Is the fifth marauder dead? Is she alive? Is she infected, or safe? We won't find out until chapter one.. but I ask that you bear with me and wait ;) Here is a glimpse into the sordid past of Folsom, Willow, and Voldemort. New chapter to be posted as soon as I can! Thank you for your reviews & support and for READING :) You all rule!
An explosion of red and green sparks burst above a castle. Fireworks were blowing up all around not only Great Britain, but all over Europe and in far-flung areas of the world. A full moon hung in the sky over Hogwarts castle. The hot summer air was filled with the sound of crickets, cicadas, and thunder-like booms as owls flew to and fro from the Owlery tower. One clumsy barred owl dropped its parcel, a fresh copy of The Daily Prophet. A seventeen-year-old brunette girl with green eyes the color of willow leaves caught it deftly as she sat beside a glittering lake, submerged up to her calves in the cooling water.
She unrolled the latest edition of the newspaper. Just two hours ago, the moment that the global wizarding community had been praying for for years had finally happened.
22 June 1945
DUMBLEDORE DEFEATS GRINDELWALD IN LEGENDARY DUEL
At precisely 7:03 p.m. this day, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, defeated the notorious Dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald in a valley located in Bellinghall, Scotland.
The two wizards engaged in the duel at approximately four in the afternoon today. Eyewitnesses tell us that the resulting battle was 'the greatest wizarding duel of all time'. Grindelwald, who had been terrorizing the wizarding community at large since the late 1920's, was apprehended by Aurors once incapacitated, where he will be taken to Nurmengard to await trial for his crimes against both Muggles and wizards alike.
The shockwaves and power that were generated by the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald were felt as far away as London, over a hundred miles from the location of the incredible battle. Despite officials best efforts to Obliviate and contain the exposure of magic to Muggles, celebrations are erupting around the globe, primarily in Britain, as the greatest threat to peace we have ever known has finally been vanquished.
More continued on B2…
"What are you reading, Will?"
The brown-haired girl looked up as an exquisitely handsome young man loomed over her. His jet-black hair was neat and glinted in the reflection of the moonlight. In one hand, he held a small roll of parchment, his diploma. In the other was a pointed black hat, which he had worn with the rest of the students in his year just that morning for the graduation ceremony for the class of 1945.
"The paper. I'm sure you've heard all about it by now, Tom."
The young man gave a tiny nod of his head. "I'm surprised. I believed you would be joining the celebration in Hogsmeade. It must be quite the scene, since students will be celebrating both graduation and the defeat of such a powerful wizard."
"I grew tired of the commotion." Willow responded airily, tossing back her long sheet of pretty, chestnut-colored hair. She flashed Tom a winsome smile. "What a day. First, we graduate Hogwarts. Then, Grindelwald is captured."
"Indeed. What a day." Tom sounded unhappy, even melancholy, as he gazed out across the shimmering lake. Willow bit her lip, unsure of herself in the presence of this intimidating young man. They had been friends, closer than friends, for quite some time now. She, like so many others in the school, had been drawn to him like a snake charmed by a flute. Tom had always commanded admiration and respect from both students and faculty for as long as she remembered. Teachers had written him glowing letters of recommendation for every post-Hogwarts school in the nation, for any kind of employment he wanted. Many, including Professor Slughorn, were already tipping him to become the youngest Minister of Magic. Maybe even by thirty years old.
But Tom had never been interested in climbing the ladder of power. Not like that. Rather, he had always been fascinated with the idea of conquering his greatest foe, death. After having spent two years in close contact with the young man, she knew just how dark and driven he was, that he would stoop to every level to achieve his goals. Willow counted herself within his innermost circle, even though many others such as Folsom, Nott, Avery, and Lestrange all claimed themselves his closest companions. Willow alone had captured his attention, his admiration, his eye. He was cunning, resourceful, ambitious, determined, and clever. He was the true epitome of Slytherin House. Tom Riddle had captivated the entire school and won over nearly every heart as he ascended the ranks of power in every manner possible.
And, he had stolen her heart, too.
"What are you thinking about?" Willow asked, tilting her head slightly and exposing her neck. "Talk to me."
Tom glanced at her once, a muscle jerking in his cheek. She knew those liquid black eyes well, knew that even now, alone as they were, he was hiding something from her. Together, they had shared secrets and intimacies she would never speak of to anyone. Ever since Folsom had revealed his own feelings for her, Tom had grown colder towards both him and her. She wanted to gain his trust again, demonstrate to him how loyal she was, how much she loved him, no matter the cost of following him.
"You ask too many questions." Tom said in a cool voice. Willow lifted her chin a notch, unfazed.
"I know better than to use Legilimency against you, my Lord," she said mockingly. "Who but the great Lord Voldemort knows all of the secrets of the world?"
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "You talk too much."
"Indeed. A habit I must have picked up from you. We all know Tom Riddle can't learn to keep his mouth shut."
Willow extended her hand, a renewed gesture of her love and loyalty to him. Tom grasped it and pulled her to her feet effortlessly, his black eyes glowing with hot fire. Her heart pounded frantically against her chest as he drew her against him. He was so tall, so powerful. And all hers.
"You tempt me, princess," he whispered, his arms flexing against her back. Willow batted her eyelashes shamelessly. "Oh, but to have Tom Riddle's heart. But you don't have a heart, do you? Not like mine."
She placed her palm upon his chest. She could feel its strong, steady beat through his ribs. But even though she could feel it beating, she wondered if Tom survived not on its rhythm, but out of pure ambition and drive. Tom's gaze searched her face, his expression full of possessiveness and hunger.
"Who is your Lord?" Tom asked quietly, his grip tightening on her.
"You are." Willow said, smiling coquettishly.
"Say my name." Tom said in a husky voice.
"Voldemort."
"No." Tom leaned down and kissed her neck. "Say who I am to you, princess."
A thrill of hot desire swept over Willow. "Tom."
He slanted his mouth over hers. Her arms came up around his neck, deepening the kiss. For a few moments, she felt nothing but the lava of passion sweeping through her, obliterating everything else in its path. All that mattered was the strength of his arms around her, the taste of his mouth, the scent of his body.
"Am I interrupting something?"
The two broke apart as a frozen voice cleaved between them. Willow jerked back guiltily, but Tom met the newcomer's livid expression with calm authority, completely unashamed and unabashed.
"You had better have a good reason for interrupting us, Mackenzie." Tom said in a cool voice to the young man standing a few feet from them. The young man with blonde hair tied back into a ponytail stiffened with indignation. Mackenzie Folsom's face was mottled red with furious anger, the spark of jealousy burning in his ice-blue eyes. Willow tried to wriggle free of Tom's arms, but he tightened his grip on her so that it was almost painful.
"I do." Mackenzie Folsom said coldly. Willow's consciousness squirmed guiltily at the vulnerable look of pain and hurt on his face, but Tom remained unflinchingly absolute in his possession of her.
"I heard Grindelwald was defeated." Folsom went on, glaring at the pair of them as if they were performing a lewd act by merely standing close together in an embrace. "The owls are rampant tonight, relaying messages and news. Even the Muggles are noticing that something has changed. Fireworks, owls, shooting stars. It's quite ridiculous."
"As we have noticed." Tom said in a monotone voice. He was no longer relaxed and even playful; now he was cold, distant, and Lord Voldemort once again. "I hope that wasn't the reason you interrupted us."
"It wasn't." Folsom growled. "In case you hadn't noticed, the moon is full tonight. The map has awoken."
Tom released Willow, taking a step toward Folsom. "Show me."
Folsom pursed his lips. As much as he wanted to hex Tom into a million slimy pieces for putting his hands on Willow Smith, he instead withdrew a small piece of ancient parchment from his robes. He handed it to Tom, who studied it with rapt fascination.
A small black ink snake wriggled on the parchment. It had been moving in an endless circle until Tom held it in his large hands. "I am the Heir of Slytherin," he said in a harsh language that made Folsom bristle with envy, since he could not understand it. But Willow, who had been taught by Tom herself, grasped every word.
The snake abruptly went still. It changed color, into a poisonous green viper, and became a straight-line. The triangular head pointed like a compass towards the black trees of the Forbidden Forest, the exact opposite direction of Hogwarts castle.
"Come!" Tom shouted to Willow and Folsom. He hurried into the forest, not quite running, but speeding along at a brisk pace. Briefly alone, Folsom stared at Willow blackly, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
"So," he said in a voice quivering with emotion, "you have chosen Riddle."
"I have chosen what I have chosen." Willow replied steadily. "My love for Tom does not concern you."
Folsom's pale face filled with a dark pink hue. "What you feel for him is not love. You will regret this, Willow. I would have given you-"
"You should be careful what you speak." Willow interrupted, afraid for Folsom, her friend since childhood. "You know as well as I do that Lord Voldemort does not forgive treason."
"Treason? My feelings for you are not treason. They are real. They are true. I would never-"
"Silence!" Willow hissed. "You will bring death to yourself, Vincent, or worse."
"I am no longer called 'Vincent.'"
"Yes, but you will always be that to me."
Folsom opened his mouth to speak, but a cold voice full of dark intent whispered upon their minds. Where are my loyal companions? Will I be left to discover this treasure alone? COME TO ME!
Willow and Folsom yelped as if they had been scalded. The matching black marks on their forearms burned. Like tattoos, they had been branded the previous full moon, in a declaration of undying and unwavering loyalty to Lord Voldemort, the first two to ever make that bold proclamation. The two of them charged into the trees, following the guidance of their Dark Marks towards their Master.
The woods were alive with unseen creatures that roamed freely beneath the gloomy trees. Willow and Folsom did not catch up to their leader until they were out of breath and physically spent. Chest heaving, Willow bent over and clutched at a stitch in her side as she and Folsom stood before a dilapidated old mansion, overgrown and wild. What had once been a lawn had become a thicket of hedges and sharp thorns. Two magnificent magnolia trees towered like sentinels at the gate to the brick fence, winding around the property and covered in ivy and wisteria. The grand house had fallen into disrepair, its windows broken, the vast porch sinking sideways into the tangled earth.
"How old do you think this place is?" asked Folsom as he approached the giant house, his eyes fixed on the emblem of a familiar snake on the door.
"Ancient." Willow replied, touching a rotting pillar of the porch. "Perhaps a thousand years old."
Tom appeared before them, his black eyes momentarily gleaming scarlet in the night. He had a terrifying look of manic glee on his face, making it grotesque instead of handsome. "The snake has lead me here. Within this house, I will finally uncover my destiny, my heritage, my ancestor's legacy. I will finally learn the secret of immortality."
"Tom," Willow said haltingly, a strange sense of foreboding filling her. "Maybe we should go back. Perhaps we should return in the daylight, when it is safer. I feel as if to be here on a full moon is nothing short of certain death."
He turned slowly to stare at her. Tom's face was livid, and for the first time, Willow glimpsed a rabid, insane piece of Tom that frightened her. Her blood chilled as she took a step back, sure that he was going to strike her down, regardless of the nature of their relationship.
"You will be with me, my beloved," Tom promised in a voice that trembled with dark intention, and Folsom trembled with fury. "You, princess, will become my queen. But first, we must enter. Both of you will accompany me."
"You would use as human shields." Folsom spat, the most skilled and powerful Legilimens that Willow had ever known. Even more so than Tom Riddle. "Should something go wrong, you will have Willow and I be decoys so that you may escape. That's your plan, isn't it, Lord Voldemort?"
Tom stared at Folsom, and Willow felt a surge of fear for her oldest friend, despite her horrified outrage at Tom's thoughts. "Tom," she said sharply, stepping forward and putting a hand on his arm. "You know I would die for you, my love. There is no need for your cunning thoughts."
Tom's gaze flickered to hers. A mask had been replaced, and he gave her a tiny, mechanical smile. "A dear declaration from my princess. I thank you for your willingness to serve me, my love." He looked at Folsom again, and Willow feared the two would duel right then and there.
"Do not make me question your loyalty again, Folsom," Tom breathed, scarlet eyes gleaming. "One does not betray Lord Voldemort and walk away unscathed."
"I'll keep that in mind, my Lord." Folsom replied frostily. Tom turned his back on him, facing the door. "I am the Heir of Slytherin," he said again in Parseltongue. "Open."
The snake on the door wriggled as the one on his paper had. The snake moved in a perfect circle, and the door unlocked. Filled with trepidation, Willow watched as Tom pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Willow followed him first. The house was dark and smelled strongly of decay and rotting wood. She felt her skin crawl as the sense of being watched overwhelmed her. In spite of herself, she drew closer to Tom. She reached out and took his hand, interlacing their fingers, hoping to find comfort and safety within him.
He took a few steps up a double grand staircase, releasing her hand from his. She felt oddly rejected and cold. She had felt his withdrawal as strongly as though he had Disapparated. Drawing her wand, she followed him while Folsom climbed the opposite set of winding stairs. An old glass chandelier glinted dully in the center of the large room, and her eyes surveyed the massive portraits, the cobweb-covered statues and busts, the unlit candelabras. At one point, this grand house must have been a sight to behold, even miles within the depths of the Forbidden Forest, far, far away from civilization.
"This is the room." Tom announced in a quiet voice full of conviction as he opened a double set of doors. "The West End of the House of Slytherin."
"Tom." Willow whispered, a final plea for reconsideration.
But he ignored her. Walking inside with confidence and purpose, Tom entered the room.
Folsom hesitated at Willow's side. "I will not enter." He whispered to her. "I fear I will not survive. I am not a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, nor I can claim a Founder's blood running through my veins."
"But I am a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff." Willow reminded him softly. "So, perhaps, I am safe." Leaving safety with Folsom behind, she followed Tom once again into the darkness.
Cold moonlight poured like milk through the tall French windows as Willow took in the chilling corridor that stretched before her. Broken mirrors lay in shattered pieces on the floor. Grotesque stone gargoyles and suits of armor lined the hall as she walked into the grand antechamber of the West End of the manor. The huge room had perhaps once been as grand as the rest of the house, but now lay before her like a scene of total devastation.
Tapestries hung torn from their hangers on the exquisite paneled walls. Candelabras were knocked over, tables and chairs smashed to splinters. Stuffed heads of fearsome animals like boars and wolves glared down at her from the walls. Paintings hung shredded and crooked beside them. A large writing desk had had its drawers yanked out and thrown about the room. A gigantic canopy bed crafted from dark wood lay cracked and split into two, its fur blanket torn to pieces. The veiled canopy was ripped and torn, blowing slightly in the cold wind. As Willow examined the ravaged room, her eyes fell upon a mangled portrait of a young man. A pair of black eyes, just like Tom's, stared at her eerily from behind the folds of destroyed canvas. It looked like cruel claws had destroyed the work of art.
Before she could push the canvas back into place to reveal the face, she felt an odd tingle of warning race up her spine. She turned just in time to see a green glow from twenty feet away. Tom was leaning over something positioned in front of a half-circle of tall windows. Willow approached, each step feeling like a death sentence.
"Tom?" Willow breathed, coming to stand across from him. He was staring into a carved stone basin, similar to a bird bath. Filling the inside was a sinister bright green liquid. Lying at the bottom of the poisonous-looking water was a simple gold chain, and a leaf-shaped pendant of opal stones.
"This is it." Tom whispered, the green light reflecting in his perfect face. "I've finally found it."
"Found what?" Willow beseeched gently.
"It's a H-"
"Let the Heir reveal his or herself." A strange voice hissed. Tom and I looked around the destroyed antechamber.
"Reveal yourself first." Tom shot back boldly, speaking in Parseltongue. Willow cringed slightly, waiting for the death blow. She could feel the malevolent presence filling the room with darkness blacker than shadows, coming for them.
A pair of scarlet eyes gleamed from the darkness of the antechamber from which they had just walked through. "Very well. Remain where you are. Any movement, any sign of treachery, and I will strike."
Willow and Tom waited. Willow trembled with fear; Tom shook with anticipation. The pair of red eyes came closer, until a horrific black beast with scaly skin and a long reptilian snout was bathed in the illumination of the moon. Willow stared, struck dumb, horrified, but Tom met the gaze calmly and without fear, as if the two had planned to meet for tea in this dilapidated ruin of a manor.
"Who read the Map?" the strange creature hissed. "Who is the Heir?"
"Standing before you is the Heir of Slytherin, and the Princess of Hufflepuff." Tom declared boldly. "You are the Master?"
The ghastly beast gave a horrible grin, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. "When the students are ready, the teacher appears. Bring forth your friend and let us begin your instruction of the Dark Arts."