Chapter V

The Subject

There was just so much more to explore about the tournament, or the 'Path'. For one, neither Mermot nor Pate mention how exactly the participants were chosen. So Hermione returned to the library the next day and began her search anew. She took out Traditions of the Isles as a reference and went to work selecting her research materials from the history section.

She found full records of the Tournament as early as the fifteenth century, and partial copies dating back two further centuries. These listed the names and ancestries of each of the Champions, descriptions of the tasks they faced and outcomes of each.

"Hello, Hermione."

Dapnhe had appeared over her table and was looking down at the spread of dusty record books laid out before Hermione.

"Hi, Daphne," said Hermione.

"Doing research?" she smiled politely.

"Yeah. Did you know that Twi-Wizard Tournament was only the Tri-Wizard Tournament from the latter half of the sixteenth century? Before that it was common for four or five wizards to compete. And even more as you go back further."

"I didn't. I thought it had always been the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

"No. And prior to…" Hermione leaned over for one of the books at the edge of her reach, "Fourteen-sixty, I think, the Champions were selected by a vote by the local elders. After that it says they were selected by 'the Goblet', or 'out of the Flames'."

"I've heard of the Goblet," Daphne said. "Mind if I join you?"

"Sure," Hermione murmured. "Just – try not to move things around. I have a system."

"Okay," said Daphne, sitting down next to her. Hermione watched her carefully place her books on a corner of the table that was clear. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Nothing in particular, no."

"So…" Daphne picked at a nearby book. It was an incomplete anthology of tournaments around the turn of the twelfth century. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Reading, mostly."

"And you need all of these books?"

"I want them near if I do."

"And… if you do, how do you know which has what you're looking for?"

"I have a system." Daphne glanced at her with an unconvinced look. "I do," Hermione reiterated.

"Okay," she said.

"Look, I've got Traditions of the Isles there in the middle. That's where I started. And above that are select accounts of 'The Path', the first evolution of the tournament. And around on the left are passages that may be about The Path or related in some way. On the right over there are writings from around the tenth century which can connect The Path to the Tournament, however vague, and here in front of me are records I know are from the Tournament. I've got them in order from…" Hermione gazed at the books in front of her. They weren't in any order.

"Okay,"

"I really have a system," she repeated. "It makes sense to me."

"I'm not doubting you, Hermione," Daphne smiled. "I've never heard about the… Path? What was it?"

"Well, some people think that Merlin started it as some sort of… spirit journey to connect with our magic more completely. Merlin is commonly thought to have popularized it in Wales and England, but the Romans saw the Celts doings similar things well before his time."

"Really? That's incredible. You've figured this all out yourself?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's all in the books."

"So… what would they do to connect with their magic?"

"That's not well known. The only ones who really knew were the ones who participated, and none of them wrote about it, to my knowledge. There is one…"

Hermione stood and scanned her collection, finding a worn manual on the left side of the table. "I know the Muggle stories about Merlin – but I found this one by a wizard. I'm sure he wasn't a contemporary of Merlin, and I don't think he participated in the tournament, but he wrote stories about Merlin. This one has Arthur fighting the Celtic tribes of the north…" Hermione paged through until she found it. "Merlin gathered King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. The eve of battle was upon them and none had the heart to believe they would survive to see the sun set once more. Merlin took the twelve knights west to Lake-upon-the-Sea. Across Merlin's body of water was a spring of pure liquid magic. Merlin bid the knights to drink from the well and view their lives as they have lived them. They were met with the bloody deeds that had brought them to this place and were sorrowful. Merlin pardoned them of their crimes and told them to drink from the lake and know that they were men of quality and integrity and their purpose was clear – Deus Vult.

"Then they slaughtered their pagan opponents in battle. What's interesting – to me – is that in the Muggle stories, King Arthur's knights were on a quest to find the Holy Grail, a cup with magical powers. It is first mentioned by Chretien de Troyes in the late eleven-hundreds. That's at least five hundred years after Merlin, so it's obviously an added Christian symbol, but what if it's a metaphor for something that wizards actually used? This well or spring was mentioned around ten-hundred. By a wizard. And twelve is the earliest number of participants in the Path that I could find. This story says twelve knights. And Merlin is there to supervise."

"May I?" Daphne took the manual out of Hermione's hand and studied it.

"Another book says that a Roman scribe saw twelve Welshmen disappearing on the coast during one of the Path rituals. Merlin takes them west, to the sea."

Daphne nodded slowly. "You have Beedle, right? I've seen it on your nightstand."

"Yeah."

"You've read it?"

"I… Yeah, most of it, it's all children's stories. Nothing about the Path or Tournament."

"Have you read about the Fountain of Truth?"

"I think I remember. Merlin enchanted a fountain to allow the drinker…" Hermione trailed off.

"Across Merlin's body of water was a spring of pure liquid magic," Daphne recited, looking up at Hermione with bright eyes. "…drink from the well and view their lives as they have lived them…"

"You think this… this spring is the Fountain of Truth?"

"I think the Fountain of Truth isn't real, Hermione. It's a children's story."

"But?"

"But I also like thinking that every story has a bit of truth to it. If even the Muggles have stories about something like it…"

Hermione nodded. The convergence of historical record and legendary stories really was fascinating. Were King Arthur and Merlin real people? Did they actually do all the things in the stories? Who were more right, the Muggles or the wizards?

"Hermione," Daphne said quietly, calling her out of her thoughts. "I wanted to talk to you about… It wasn't my choice to go to the World Cup with the Malfoys."

"Okay," said Hermione, a bit stiffer than intended.

"I just want you to know that I value our friendship."

Hermione nodded. "I do, too."

"I'm not interested in Draco at all, okay? I wouldn't even talk to him regularly if not for… family obligations. I don't want you to get angry with me."

"I'm… no, I'm not angry. It's just that… Not at all?"

"He's not really my type." Daphne shrugged, looking down at King Arthur manual. "Ego non volo."

"You don't need 'ego'," Hermione said automatically. "The subject is included in the verb."

I-I. ⌡. Γ┐

"You have to be seventeen to enter."

"There's nothing in the rules or traditions of the tournament that disallow an underage witch or wizard," said Hermione as the Slyhterins returned to the dormitory from dinner. "In fact, an underage wizard participated in the last Tournament."

Draco only shook his head. "But Dumbledore said it. Do you think things are going to follow the traditional rules or Dumbledore's rules?"

"Dumbledore isn't all-powerful, Draco," said Hermione. "He may be the most powerful wizard in the world, but that doesn't make him infallible or impossible to circumvent. There's nothing in the actual rules that prevents an underage person from putting their name in the Goblet of Fire. The Goblet makes the choice, not the judges."

"So Dumbledore will make the Goblet disqualify you," Tracey yawned, slumping down in plush armchair near the fire. Draco dropped onto a nearby couch, pulling Hermione down next to him.

"The Goblet is at least five hundred years old," she replied. "I don't think Dumbledore would tamper with it, even if he could."

"The old coot would interfere with anything he wants," said Theodore in a low voice, to no one in particular. "Not that it matters."

"What does that mean?" glowered Hermione through clenched jaws.

The boy shrugged his bony shoulders. Obviously his father hadn't beaten that out of him yet.

"If there is no way Dumbledore could stop it once our names are in the Goblet, why shouldn't we try? We're all Slytherins, aren't we? Shouldn't all of you want to prove yourselves? Win the tournament?"

"You don't really think you could win it?" Tracey asked, leaning over the arm of her chair.

"Why not?"

"You'd be going up against the best of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons," said Tracey. "Wizards of age who know boatloads more magic than you."

"I can handle myself," Hermione pouted.

"You're still assuming that you'd be selected," Nott said in one of those select times he chose to address Hermione directly.

"Why shouldn't I? I've faced greater dangers than some French teenager and a communist."

Tracey snorted. "Soviets are bred tough, Hermione. Not even Napoleon could break them down."

"I'm not going to be competing in a Russian winter."

But Tracey only rolled her eyes.

"I guess I'll just have to show you," sighed Hermione. "I've got something to do."

"Where are you going?" asked Draco as she stood.

"To read," she said as he tried to pull her back. "Boring reading." Hermione untangled their fingers and walked down the steps to the bedrooms. She took the familiar right turn and then entered he dormitory on the left.

She was greeted immediately by the irate voice of Pansy Parkinson. "– was bad enough, but both–?" Her cheeks were flushed and she was quivering, staring up at the taller girl.

"There are plenty of others," Daphne said in an icy tone. "Just because you want something doesn't mean you get it."

"Unless my name is Greengrass, yeah? Maybe I'll just have to –" Daphne stepped quickly towards her, bringing them almost nose to nose. Pansy shut her mouth, perhaps startled, or perhaps it was that she had noticed Hermione close the door. The shorter girl, face looking rather like a disgruntled pug, grimaced at Hermione's entrance and spun on her heels, stomping off to her bed.

Daphne stared after Pansy for a second, took a quick look at Hermione, hesitated, then returned to her own desk.

Hermione stepped forward slowly, unsure of what she had just interrupted. It was completely within Pansy's character to start in on someone. Daphne, however, was never one to get aggressive. Hermione walked to her own bed, next to Dahpne's, and set her bag down. There was a telltale shuffle of rings on a metal rod as Pansy yanked the curtains closed around her bed.

"What was that about?" Hermione whispered after a moment.

Daphne had sat down at her desk, holding herself in her chair with perfect posture, and had returned to a half written essay. "It was nothing," she said quietly, eyes glued to the parchment.

She frowned. Daphne wasn't much of a gossip, but Hermione had hoped that she would let her in on this one. Hermione would gladly take her side in any argument against Pansy. But there was no time to dwell on it. She'd be late for Dumbledore's lesson.

Hermione hurried back out of the dormitory, the common room, and out of the dungeons. There was just a hint of sunlight left in the halls of the castle. Soon, weeks or days, the sun would be down before dinner, even. She climbed to Dumbledore's office, the gargoyle leaping aside for her, and ascended the spiral stairs behind the wall. The large wooden door at the top swung open at her knock.

The pink sky shone through the window behind Dumbledore's desk. The old wizard was sitting there tranquilly. Hermione took her time walking across the office. There were so many little trinkets and gadgets laying around that it could take a year to parse through them all. And years more to discover their true uses.

Dumbledore motioned for her to take the seat across from him.

"Welcome back, Miss Granger. I hope your dinner sat well with you?"

Hermione nodded.

"Very well. Shall we begin? What can you tell me about the pensieve?"

She related all that she had read of the peniseve to him. He nodded serenely. "Very good, Miss Granger. Thorough research. The pensieve does, indeed, operate without much guidance. It takes some experience to use properly if you store multiple memories inside it at once, though. I hold an extensive collection so I use many vials to keep my memories safe and ordered. It wouldn't do to forget a memory at the bottom of the pool, would it?" he chuckled.

"While on the subject of memory storage," he continued. "Did you come upon any other methods in your search?"

"No, sir."

"Have you come upon any methods in your time at Hogwarts?"

"No, sir…" she said again, before thinking. But she had. It must have slipped to the back of her mind before. But it was clear, now that she thought about it. "Actually, I have…"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, you have."

"The… the diary," she said. "Tom's diary."

"The diary of sixteen-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle," Dumbledore recited with his eyes closed. "An intriguing piece of magic. I'm not sure there has been anything like it before."

"I met him – Tom," said Hermione. "But it wasn't really him. He said… that he was a memory, stored in the diary for fifty years. Was the diary a pensieve? A form of one?"

"I don't believe so," said Dumbledore. "That diary was not used for the purpose for which it was sold – it was not meant to recount memories of Voldemort so… vividly. I sincerely doubt that he would like to relieve his school days. No, the memories inside the diary seemed to have been… aware. It had a drive. A goal. The diary was a tool. Storing memories, but not for the sake of remembering them. They were to be used, and I sincerely doubt, as well, that Voldemort intended to use them himself."

"What do you mean?"

"As I gathered from the participants two years ago, Miss Weasley was led astray – possessed, even – by the memories. She was used to open the Chamber of Secrets. Now, if Voldemort wanted to open the Chamber, he not need any memories to do it."

"So… he wanted someone else to open it?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Indeed."

"Can… can the memories in the pensieve…"

"No, no, dear me. This particular brand of invasive memories is quite possibly Voldemort's most impressive creation thus far, and I do not believe anything else exists on the level of the diary. But he created it as Tom Riddle, at age sixteen. Have you ever wondered why he created it?"

Hermione couldn't say that she did. After the Chamber, she didn't really want to think about any of it.

"I suppose an explanation is in order, but I shan't delve too deep. Voldemort is not the central figure in our exploration. Not at this time. But he is the beginning. A history of Voldemort, then, and I shall try to be brief.

"Tom Riddle was born in an orphanage in London, nearly seventy years ago. His mother, a witch, died not long after he was born. He grew up in that orphanage. When he reached the age of eleven, Hogwarts sent a professor with his letter of acceptance to greet him, much like Minerva did for you. However, it was I who brought Tom his letter.

"What I found was a bitter boy. An angry boy. A powerful boy. He like to cause pain to those who he did not like. He stole. He bullied. But once he was at Hogwarts, he acted like a proper student and fooled most of the staff. While there, I eventually found out, he was obsessed with his parentage. He learned that his ability to speak Parseltongue was an indicator that he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, the founder of his house." Dumbledore held up his hand before Hermione could interrupt. "That does not mean that Mister Potter is the Heir of Slytherin, either. It was the case for Tom Riddle, though. His bad experience at the orphanage, coupled with that fact that his Muggle father abandoned his mother, allowed for a moral dissonance in him, if he had any notion of right or wrong at all, and he figured out how to set the Basilisk on the school.

"The Basilisk killed Myrtle Warren and Hogwarts was to be shut down. Tom, however, did not have a place to go. Hogwarts was his home just as it was to many before him, and many after. So he framed someone else for it. This is where the diary comes into play. Following his opening of the Chamber, and subsequent closing, he created a sublime piece of magic out of his diary. This diary had all of his memories up to that point in his life. And it was meant to take control of anyone who wrote in it. Can you guess for what purpose?"

"To open the Chamber again?"

"Precisely."

"But, Professor, Tom – the memory of Tom – was trying to… come back. Can any memory just… come back?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. That… was a later edition. Let me jump forward several decades. I had recently taken up the post of Headmaster and Tom Riddle had returned to Britain, this time as Lord Voldemort. He came to Hogwarts to request the posting of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."

"He did?"

"He did. I, of course, turned down his request. He left, but not before, I suspect, retrieving his diary. He had hidden it here since his departure and it had not taken root in some unfortunate student yet – and I dare say he was quite fond of that bit of magic and wanted to admire it some more. But we are not interested in that, for now. It only shows a change of direction for Voldemort. With his return to Britain he began a campaign for personal power under the banner of blood supremacy. His followers from his school days joined up, and their children, too. Soon there was a sickness in my Hogwarts. Students were being turned against each other. Against their own families. I saw many children turn down dark paths. Many turn to Voldemort's side.

"It was a failure of mine, to be sure. I had let Voldemort walk these halls for seven years - and I let his spirit walk them for many more, corrupting this institution. Surely, you know some of the names. Travers. The Lestrange brothers. Rockwood… Pettigrew.

"One particular family has been torn apart by Voldemort's machinations more than any other. You've met several of them, too. We shall be delving further into the life, and seduction to Voldemort's cause, of one Bellatrix Black."