The next morning, Harry was in the library at 5:00 am, looking up the Triwizard Tournament and all its customs, courtesy of Luna Lovegood. He summarized his notes, including the basic rules and an entire section about the Yule Ball, and gave it to Cedric Diggory, also at Luna's insistence. Cedric shrugged, read it, re-read it, and thanked him.
It was almost ridiculous. He had asked Hogwarts about the loudest people, or the most power-hungry ones, and by the end of the week, Terrence Higgs had stopped challenging Hermione to a duel every day because none of the Slytherins cared if she was a Mudblood or not. Also, Terrence had gotten several 'commoner' friends as well, thanks to the contract, so he couldn't call Hermione anything without being a Hypocrite.
But really... it was almost ridiculous, how quickly everyone figured out they were 'like-minded'. Good, smart people were desirable, because no one judged other based on economic status or political power. Although keeping the contract for life was harsh and almost impossible, if one goes for seven years without judging, then those habits will hopefully stick for life.
Now, it was time for the daily routine:
Hogwarts, who needs my help?
I do. Years ago, before the ages of this time, my Master and Creators each added a protective measure. Three of these measure have been taken away and replaced with newer, more effective measures. However... one has left a Serpent-King, a Life-Taker, with eyes of gold and fangs of venom, as long as Jormangur, as strong as Fenrir. But the fourth's blood came again and ordered my master's Knight to turn agains the manor, and the snake attacked my Apprentices...
So...
Dubhslain hesitated. Eyes of gold, the Life-Taker, the Serpent-King?
There is a basilisk? And...
Do not hurt it. Make it so it cannot kill a student... it is an animal, it follows orders. If it cannot kill, but it harms, then the Soul-Not-Body will not understand that we are thwarting him.
I... I don't understand.
Stop the Serpent from hurting my apprentices. Stop the man, the soul-in-body. My wisdom cannot pass to you in words; I am sorry.
I'll... I'll try to help you.
Basilisks... time to check out the library. Of course, the wards already forbade her from killing students, but it would be hard to figure out a safety measure so that if the basilisk was ordered to harm, she'd be able to do so. Who knew about Basilisks, or any type of magic creatures?
Hagrid did.
Running off of the astronomy tower and into the open air, Harry turned into a bird and dived down to Hagrid's hut. He had no clue how long before the basilisk was released and sent to the students, so he had better hurry.
"Hagrid, can a Basilisk's glare be stopped?"
"Yeah, O' course, how'd you think Newt Scamander escaped? He took'a mirror, an' looked at it. The guy turned to stone, petri'fied, or som'ing. I dunno. But he didn't die, did'e?"
"Thank you!"
Harry flew to the owlry, grabbing spare paper (finally! Flourish & Boults begin keeping up with the modern day!) and a ballpoint pen before screwing a quick note:
Mum and Dad,
Basilisk on the loose. Need as MANY MIRRORS as possible. Big, small, any shapes and sized. Don't matter much. But I need as many as possible.
Love, Harry
P.S. When's the baby coming?
Right. That was it. He gave it to a random owl, before hesitating. He'd hang up the mirrors in corners, so the students had a very big chance of turning into stone instead of dying. But he had no idea how to defeat whoever was planning the massacre... no, it was worse. Harry had no idea who the planner even was.
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Tom Lockhart shivered slightly on his broom. He was flying over Greengrass manor on a Saturday morning, and flying without a broom took an unnecessary amount of energy. Not half an hour beforehand, he was inside the ministry, and a few choice spells later, several departments were in chaos. When Lord Greengrass flood into the ministry, it was far too easy to disillusion himself and snatch a hair off the man. Dropping it into the polyjuice potion Tom had placed within his vial, and voila! Instant Lord Greengrass.
So now, after using legilimency on the man to find out the general area of his manor, Tom was flying, on a broom, to the manor. He wished he could floo, but unfortunately, there were wards against that - one entered, had their blood checked automatically, and then if they weren't family, drained within a minute.
No, thank you.
So Tom flew to the edge of the property, right where the ward-line ended, and hovered for a bit. He looked over the valley, and smiled with grim satisfaction when he saw a little girl, running after a golden snitch.
A small charm, carefully aimed, and the snitch changed direction, flying to him. Tom drank the polyjuice, thanked the stars for robes that grew with him, and landed just at the ward's edges.
Chasing the snitch, Astoria Greengrass caught sight of the man, and threw herself to him, running as fast as her little legs carried her.
"DADDY!"
Tom knelt, throwing out his arm, smiling. Astoria hugged him. Tom stunned the girl, and appeared out. He never even entered the wards, and now he was safe at the Forbidden Forest's edge, with a muggle boy, this little Pureblood girl, and a journal. Unwritten in, as of yet. It was quiet a shame his previous one was destroyed... but really, that just meant he could always try again.
Now, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Tom Gilderoy Riddle Lockhart looked at the Muggle boy, stolen off of the London streets, and the small Pureblood girl. Then he proceeded to carve runes into their skins.
When they woke up, Riddle only smiled. Their screams were rather... enjoyable.
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Inside the diary, something squirmed. Riddle's anima, trapped inside, had been given orders to enthrall a student to release the basilisk, and other the basilisk to kill any mud bloods it could find.
A horcrux could have done that, easily. But Riddle had forgotten something very important - the structure of a soul.
If a soul was a seven layer cake, then the horcrux was cutting a slice off of the cake and putting it into a different plate.
Removing your anima was not like removing a horcrux. Instead, it was like removing one of the layers of the cake - it didn't have the complexity of a full human soul. It was simply a ghost.
A ghost - an imprint - that looked for one thing only, and once it was given, they could leave.
Myrtle looked for a boy that was head over heals for her, who would comfort her. Once she saw someone like that, for her, once she had that feeling, then the doors would be open, and she would leave. Professor Binns looked for an apple on his desk. Once someone, anyone, told him to his face that he had taught them something, that they were thankful that they had gotten him as a teacher, then he was able to leave. Nearly Headless Nick looked for someone who treated him as an equal. Who went to his Death-Day Party, who didn't go because of curiosity or courtesy, but because of friendship, or respect.
Riddle's Anima needed something before it could leave. It had no interest in going to open a Chamber - ghosts, after all, had no ambition.
But enthralling and controlling a student might give it what it wanted anyway. There was no problem in pushing a soul out of the student's body and inhabiting it.
Tom, whistling, waved his wand, making the two children disintegrate. He pocketed the diary, wiping blood off of his sleeves where he had cut himself. He had been meticulous, and none of the children's blood was on him, even if it was splattered on the trees around.
He kept whistling even as he flew back to the castle (using the broom - flying without it was a signature move of Lord Voldemort, and he had no intention of alerting Dumbledore that he was back). He kept whistling as he left the broom in his office and as he 'accidentally' dropped a diary in the hallway. It was nearing Halloween, and he desperately wanted to get his plans in motion.
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A student picked up the diary. The looked through it, realized it was empty - no blackmail to be used - and decided that keeping a diary was stupid. He had no intention of writing blackmail for other students to find. But you never know... someone else, a different fool, might write in it. Perhaps even his enemy, the one that had stolen everything for him.
Terrence Higgs opened the diary and wrote a single sentence:
To Hermione Granger: A Gift from a Secret Admirer
Then, shutting the book, he went to the owlry to send Ms. Granger the... gift. He'd collect it every night, see what she had written. It would be interesting.
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Diana Brendiv looked at Dowager Longbottom, opening her mouth to say something. Her wand was out, and she clearly had a curse in mind.
She needed to find out what the Dowager did to her daughter, and how to reverse it. But really, it was almost... stupidly easily to corner the Dowager in the Ministry. A bit of Polyjuice to look like a muggle, the potion from Knockturn, the hair from a young muggle off of the street, and then in the Ministry, she asked the Dowager to bring her to a Department all the way across the entire building. In the hallways, her skin bubbling as the Polyjuice wore off, she became herself, and a quick "expelliarmus" had Longbottom's wand in her hand.
"What did you do to my daughter?"
"I'm sorry?" Dowager Longbottom drew herself up to her full height. This - pleb - had dared to assume that Mrs. Longbottom would harm her daughter even if she promised not to? Diana Brendiv opened her mouth to answer, rearing forward like a snake about to bite.
"You -" snick. Diana Brendiv never finished her sentence. Instead, she looked down, slowly, looking to see what the sound was. A long, thin knife pierced her torso, between her ribs, slightly below the heart. The blood poured down her beige robes, the belt stained a dark purple. Her hands came up to cup the wound, but it didn't help - her eyes were already half closed, her breathing shallow, and she'd die of blood loss within the minute. Fabrizio pulled out the the knife and took a step back.
Diana crumbled. Dowager Longbottom threw up.
Fabrizio stunned Mrs. Longbottom, and carefully began to position Diana's body to make it look like a suicide. He cleaned the hands completely, and pushed the blade back into her body, but with the hilt facing the front, her hands holding it. As if she had stabbed herself. A bit of magic, a bit of muggle technology... and it was as if she truly killed herself.
Then he Obliviated the Dowager and made her think that she had gone outside to go to the bathroom, and stumbled along the body. Just as the Dowager was waking up, Fabrizio disappeared to get his payment.
Lord Sirius Black paid in full.
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Albus Dumbledore sighed. His headache had started on September 2nd, and it had been fluctuating in strength ever since. Eating Lemon Drops helped, but only for an hour or two, before the headache returned, fiercer than ever. Samhain was only a few weeks away, as well... and as a Light Wizard, the time when Dark Magic was strongest was slightly nerve-wracking.
Usually, slightly nerve wracking.
But this year... well, this year promised to be especially painful.
And he had no idea why he was so certain of it.
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"I would like Blaise to finish him off." The Grandfather and Head of the Zabini family looked at Lacole Zabini. Her first, Fabrizio, had done well, and was doing well. He had only recently killed a woman and received payment, and it wasn't his first or last kill - as a matter of fact, out of all the youngsters, the Grandfather was pretty sure that Fabrizio was going to be his heir.
But Blaise... oh, he killed a man. But unless he did it often, the idea would start to repulse him. Blaise needed to get used to killing. And to killing alone.
"But I can do it just as well! Why does Blaise need to do this?" Of course, Lacole wished to protect her children. That was only natural. After what happened to Bice... well, he'd be worried if she didn't try to sneak in to protect Blaise Zabini.
On the other hand, his word was law.
"Blaise will kill Albus Dumbledore. You, on the other hand, have a different task. I would like you to investigate a new ward that spans across Hyde Park. It is in Muggle London only, and I am unsure as to who put it up. There are two magical signatures, and the last one who investigated it wasn't Family. He wasn't as skilled as he let on."
"Should I go now?"
"No. You'll check the ward on Halloween, when your magic is strongest. When another of our family is doing his job."
Lacole closed her eyes. This was the perfect way to make sure she couldn't sneak into Hogwarts, to check on her son, to do his job. The Grandfather was good at what he did, and she would not fail him. Failure meant removal from the family.
And that meant death.
Lacole bowed to her Head, and murmured her acceptance of his orders.
Then she turned and fled.
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Door smiled at herself in the mirrors. In this day and age, pocket mirrors were easy to acquire. There were quiet a lot of them, as Richard had just returned from defeating another monster, this time earning himself quiet a prize - several gold bars. These were exchanged for as many full-sized mirrors as possible. After all, if there were going to be small mirrors hanging around random hallways, why not large ones? Perhaps they could be doorways of some sort... Yes. That was a good idea.
With a smirk, Door slowly touched the full-sized mirrors, one at a time. There! Now, if one stepped through a mirror, they'd end up falling to a different mirror, and out of it. Like magical wormholes, and the only way to figure out where you'd end up would be to ask Hogwarts. After all, each mirror led to a different mirror each time, so there was no way to plan to get to a certain area... unless Hogwarts moved the mirror you fell to, and that mirror ended up wherever you asked to be.
Wasn't she allowed to prank the students too?
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In the Astronomy Tower, at twilight, owls of all shapes and sizes struggled to bring in mirrors. There were tons of pocket mirrors, several larger ones - why had he asked for this; there'd be girls hanging around each mirror large enough to show their face all the time! And, of course, far too many full-sized mirrors.
Harry groaned. He really shouldn't be the one to deal with all of this mess. With a groan, he pulled out the piece of parchment that was stuck between a mirror and the floor - his letter. This wasn't a good spot to read and answer, so he placed it in his pocket, and quietly asked Hogwarts to please, just get all these mirrors to wherever she thought they should be - just random areas and such. This was giving him a headache.
It was like in a glass maze! You look around, and you only see yourself and your reflections, and that's it! There was no way out, and all the mirrors were also reflecting each other!
He was so done with this.
Hogwarts! PLEASE!
You are aware that the small mirror in the corner has a trace of iron. And as you are growing, and your magic is fluctuating, I doubt that it is the mirrors that are causing you trouble. I will remove each mirror except that one. You may remove the iron. Then I will take it to a place on the grounds, outside, and I will take away the mirror. I strongly suggest that you start trying to control your magic... even if magic is not easily controlled during adolescence.
Dubhshlain decided that he hated iron. Hogwarts took the mirrors, and plenty of people blinked and gaped as randomly sized mirrors appeared in random places. Several students immediately fell through a few. The places where the mirrors were located were green dots on the maps of Hogwarts... or at least, those that were 'tunnels' were green dots.
Hogwarts decided that this was rather interesting to watch. Especially when a student fell though a mirror that was located above Professor Snape's private office.
The student took one look, turned, and ran.
Hogwarts decided to change the location of that mirror immediately. After all, she needed to ensure her apprentices' survival.
Meanwhile, Dubhshlain twisted his wand, removing the thin iron rod from behind the mirror and dropping it. Hogwarts sent to it a far, underground spot at the edge of her grounds. Somewhere near some mountains. The mirror simply slid up the wall and stayed there.
Harry rolled his eyes and stormed out.
Goddamned iron.
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Hermione raised an eyebrow.
A Secret Admirer, indeed. She was a second year. This usually started in fourth. Also, she was ugly, with bushy hair and large teeth. She was bossy, a leader, someone you followed, not someone you loved.
Also. This was a diary. Ha, no. Only idiots required diaries to remember how their days went... which could also be read by other people and used as blackmail. Then again, she could pretend to have a 'crush' on someone in the diary and then 'accidentally' let them read it and then manipulate them... Although that was too complicated and she was not a people person.
Hermione closed her eyes for a minute and organized the facts:
She, a second year ugly student, had gotten a diary from a secret admirer. Admirers usually sent flowers and jewelry and poems. Therefore, this was rubbish. It was some sort of prank, or something, and...
It wasn't normal. It made no sense.
First thing first: She had to show that she didn't care. But she wanted to use the note to see who sent it to her... so, after examining it, Hermione quickly pocketed the note, and burned the copy she had transfigured out of air molecules.
There. Now everyone would think that she had no care for this fellow. After all, "Secret Admirer" had been written with too-large letters, so the person across from her definitely saw it. The diary was knocked into her bag after she flipped through it with a raised eyebrow and a shrug. Now it looked like she was keeping it for the convenience of it.
No. She wasn't keeping it. She might forget and write something important down, and if someone went "Accio Hermione's Diary"... well, that was dangerous for her. So she was definitely slipping it to someone.
And then summoning it later, for blackmail material.
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Tom Lockhart blinked as a Slytherin received the diary. No... that simply wouldn't do. After all, no Slytherin would ever write something down. That would be traced way to easily.
So he went down to the table, told the Slytherin girl that he noticed her scholastic achievements, and asked to talk to her in private about an internship. And as he spoke about the classifications of 'Dark Magic' and the difference between Dark and Evil, he asked Hermione for some spare parchment, noticing that he needed a book or something to just to keep track of his thoughts.
She gave him the diary.
How... lovely.
A few minutes of instructing her and offering private lessons over the summer (which he knew she couldn't accept - she was a mudblood, It was in no way possible for her to have the necessary connections, or a floo connection for that matter), he sent her on her way.
And decided to give Harry Potter the diary. After all, if the lad were controlled, he would be in no way a political opponent. Now, with the news of Brendiv's suicide (the mother, not the little chit who went to school) and Dumbledore's impending doom, only Dowager Longbottom would be left. After all, Fudge was easily swayed.
With a thin smile, he sent the diary into Harry's bag - it was an easy charm, making the object float through the air until it found the target.
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Hello, I am Harry, and this is my Journal. If you find it, please burn it. Otherwise, it will spontaneously combust within five minutes of being in constant contact with someone who is not me. It will also combust within five minutes of being in constant contact with someone else's magic, so you can't use a spell to read this.
Hello, Harry Potter. I am the Diary of Tom Riddle. I was made to help students with their homework or social issues. I hope I can help you. What do you need?
Oh, Hello Tom. Did you know that you stink of Dark Magick? It's very interesting. After all, most Dark Magicks require a sacrifice. You smell of blood. And don't worry, I'm not going to turn you in.
Harry Potter was a bit squeamish about blood. But he didn't see anything, and as long as his imagination was silent, it was all good. Furthermore...
What would he care about the loss of human life? Fleur was safe. He helped students because he was bored. And this Diary was interesting. Dubhshlain wondered who the killer was - after all, once a man killed, he'd be able to do so again. Blaise had killed, but he was helping Luna, removing the debt the Fae owed her. And removing all the inhibitions of the killer and then giving them a potion of recklessness...
That would be interesting. He enjoyed a good duel.
Unfortunately, that thought was promptly shut away by a mildly disgusted Harry, who didn't condone murder.
Well, once he grew up, it'd be a different matter.
They looked down at what the Diary had written.
You seem awfully well-versed in Dark Magicks, Harry. I'm glad you trust me.
Trust is a rather... presumptuous word. Perhaps we could work out a business relationship?
Maybe. What do you need?
Nothing. I have everything. Or, at least, my problems are to be dealt with by me.
Perhaps they could be dealt with more easily with a bit of help or an outside perspective. Why don't you tell me about your day?
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Joan looked at Fleur. They had known each other since first year, studying together, making friends together. Fleur disappeared every summer, but they grew close again over the course of the year. And yes, Joan was aware of Fleur's Veela heritage, she knew that they wouldn't be friends once Beaxbatons ended...
But already?
Fleur was smiling, a chilling smile, and she was beautiful, but her face was too sharp. They had been best friends... and now? Now what happened? Was Fleur really maturing so early?
"You... you won't help me."
"No. Not unless you tell me what's in it for me."
"If you help me learn English, I'll..." What could Joan promise to a French Veela who was smart and powerful and had no interesting in gaining a love life? Well...
"I'm good at Defense. Not magic, but I can fight in the Muggle way. I have a Black Belt, third Don in Kempo Karate -"
"What?"
"I'm very good at Muggle hand-to-hand. So are you. But your sister, Gabrielle, isn't." And there it was, Joan nodded to herself, that flash of human in Fleur's silver eyes, the softening of the angles and the features becoming more... human. Less sharp, the colors less extreme - Grey instead of Silver, slight tan instead of glowing white-gold, pale blond instead of shining... whatever that color was.
"I'll teach her. Every day, I'll give her an hour of training if you, for the remainder of this year, do your best to teach me English. Deal?"
"Yes. Deal." Fleur decided that this was the most annoying stage - when human emotions were small but popped up at the most inopportune moments. Gabrielle was an example - she'll probably care for her sister until the last possible moment, and that'll confuse her Fae side to no end.
