RIDDLEBOOK
WARNING:
Contains some mature content. Reader's discretion is advised.
RIDDLE
Riddle, Riddle, Riddle.
Nothing.
No records of any Riddles anywhere. Not in Hogwart's old records, not in any history textbooks, nowhere. But I didn't give up. I refused to give up. I scorn the very word. I was, however, discouraged. I had another lead. I had my maternal grandfather's name, Marvolo.
It took me another dreadful and strenuous month, but finally, I found it. It was in an old Daily Prophet article reporting a deranged wizard's attack on a Muggle man: Morfin Gaunt, son of Marvolo Gaunt. Seeing as I could find any records of another Marvolo anywhere, I assumed this was the one.
It surprised me how quickly information flooded to me after that. The real evidence that genuinely convinced me was found in a yellowed clipping of the Life and Times column from the Prophet about Salazar Slytherin, dating back to 1901: …now, amongst the distant descendants to the great co-founder of Hogwarts are Haures, Danel, and Gaunt.
Gaunt…it was only three months into my first year when I discovered that I was the heir of Slytherin.
000
Slughorn's Roman Masquerade was like any other party of his: elaborate and overrated. I sulked along the walls in my toga and mask. Nott and Rosier stood on either side of me. Imported white wine was being passed around in round bronze flasks. Slughorn claimed the wine was authentically Roman. I knew for a fact it was a popular Chinese export.
Colorful togas and robes swirled under the pink shimmering faerie lights. To everyone else, it looked majestic. To me it seemed eerie.
"Tom!" Slughorn waved his hand at us from halfway across the room. His gold bracelet brushed against the laurel wreath perched upon his head. "Join the party, Tom, and don't scowl so. You are the starring event of my party. Come, come, and let me introduce you around."
I lifted myself off the wall and strolled over to where he stood – beside the refreshment table. Slughorn beamed at me. "With this war going on, tension is high," he told me in a stage whisper. "People need something to help them relax, and that's what this is." He nodded in agreement with his own words. "Why, with Albus worrying about Grindlewald, we ought to know we're in good hands. I say this war is already over, and we won."
"Grindlewald?" I perked up.
"Oh, yes." Slughorn peeked behind him and turned to me. He leant close and whispered in my ear, "This is confidential information, Tom, but I trust you'll keep it in the bag…Dumbledore's been researching Grindlewald lately, and by accident, I saw a document he's come across…it was lying on his office desk, in the wide open you see." Slughorn lowered his voice further into a scarcely audible croak, "He suspect that Grindlewald has made a pact with a monster…a monster he named himself after – the monster Grendel."
Grendel.
Amongst the recorded, there were Chobaliel, Hosampsich, Antares, Grendel, Baraqel, and their King, Mephostophiles.
Grendel was a demon, a descendant from the fratricidal Cain in the early times. I distinctively remember the passage from the Holy Book accounting the cursing damnation that marked Cain:
What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground
And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand. Therefore, whoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.
Grindlewald made a pact with the monster of Cain…he followed Faust's footsteps then. I was surprised that I hadn't discovered the link before. Reports of Grindlewald everywhere, I just never took much note. I knew he was a dark wizard of some kind, but I never connected him with the demon Grendel I read so much about.
"What would the purpose be, to make a pact with a devil I mean?" I asked.
Slughorn laughed. "All kinds of purposes, my boy, power, knowledge, and even eternal life," Slughorn's eyes flashed darkly. "Some say the monsters possess the summoner's body, some say they ride in the summoner's mind…whatever the truth, it isn't pleasant. Count yourself lucky for not knowing what purposes the pact serves, Tom. It's one of the darkest and most gruesome magicks invented in the hands of man."
"Why would such powerful and accommodating magic be considered dark?" I asked, uncomprehending, "Power and knowledge have been sought after for ages, yet here, in these demons, was the remedy all along. Why don't we use it? And the precious gift of eternal life…the possibilities of undertakings and privileges are infinite."
Slughorn's eyes flashed. "Do you not understand what a dealing with these demons could result in? Sure, there is a glamorous cloak to this erroneous body, but this cloak is translucent. The horrors and perverseness will eventually break free, mind it wasn't rightly restrained to begin with." Slughorn took a deep breath and paused. He examined me, his face serious. No part of my countenance, my expressions or my eyes, betrayed anything. Finally he looked away. Slowly shaking his head, he continued, "As for eternal life, Tom, do not regard it as a gift, a blessing. See it for what it really is – an accursed affliction, burdened by the most hideous of the creatures of the dark. It brings no privileges, only pain and agony. Grindlewald may not know it yet, but he had made a pact with Doom itself."
I knew to argue back would be crossing the sacred line that has been pulling all the vital advices and welcomed enlightenments out of between Slughorn's lips and into my heart. A subtle change of subject may repair the damage.
"What kind of pact had Grindlewald made?" I asked carelessly, while my ears quivered to catch Slughorn's response.
"Ah!" Slughorn sighed, "That is a mystery for us to find out when Dumbledore rids us of him." Slughorn picked up a wooden goblet from the table. "You see, my boy, Grindlewald made one little mistake – he kept a record of the monsters he summoned and done deals with. Records are evidences, Tom, and they are far more enduring than memories."
I closed my eyes quickly. His words made sense, they always do. I looked wearily sideward at my professor. He is a profound and well-read man, however cowardly and recreant.
"True," My eyes flickered up to Slughorn as I spoke. "Memories are ever-changing, weakening with the passage of time, and a pawn of our conscious minds."
Slughorn nodded, impressed. "Well said." He clapped my shoulder with his fig-stained hand, "And if you forget everything else we've discussed tonight, remember this: memories can be our summons to death or our window of life. It's all dependent on hands which takes them into hold." He winked gleefully at me and moved to speak with his other guests.
I thirsted to find out more. I could probe Slughorn further, but he is hard to predict indeed, one would never know if they'd crossed the line until too late. No matter, Faust's Zusammenrufen will be arriving shortly.
I'll find out all I want to know there.
000
I belonged in Slytherin, the House of my forefather. I told no one that I was his heir. Why should I? This is my secret, and mine alone. The other children weren't stupid; they knew I was more deserving of the House than they are. They didn't know why, or how, but they knew enough to abide my biddings.
I had no idea what being the Slytherin's heir involved. That is, until I discovered an old, thin book of ballad, written shortly after the construction of Hogwarts. Its peeling letter revealed that it was a commemoration of the four founders. It contained a passage about the end of the founders' alliance, and especially Slytherin's legacy.
In the clandestine walls he hid
A secret the others couldn't rid.
He christened it a chamber of
Wickedly secret brutes, enough
To rinse the school of all who are
What he hails as infected mar.
He leaves the school with parting words
That warns the others of his curse,
"Once my heir returns to this site
He will unleash horrors of might,
From this secret chamber it'll surge
And all the tainted will be purged."
From this one single passage, I had discovered the hissings I heard were from my noble primogenitor's 'horrors'. I was determined to fulfill his wish, and so I made it mine. For the next four years, I dedicated myself to this mission.
The Book of Ballads, in which I had found my first clue, was destroyed, along with many others of the like, after the opening of the Chamber. All evidences of it were burned, in fear of a reopening. Pointless tasks, now as I think of it. There was no amount of book burning that could prevent my brilliance in the reopening.