~ Chapter 4
Madam Edgecombe tittered about the latest Ministry gossip with Mafalda Hopkirk as they stepped up to the theatre at midnight. Many other patrons had already arrived and they were all clustered in the foyer as they waited for the signal to enter the theatre to be seated.
Madam Edgecombe eyed the other people in the room, almost exclusively comprised of women, with distaste. "Look at that awful cape she has on. A diamond on her finger and no escort? Ha, it must be a fake – and her makeup is revolting; makes her look at least twenty years older." She punctuated her nasally diatribe with frequent and completely unnecessary stresses of her words, causing some bystanders to edge away as they developed an instant headache.
"Oh, you're totally right; I absolutely agree. Ugh, terrible," said Mafalda, attempting to mimic her friend but coming a bit short.
Edgecombe rolled her eyes. "My dear, of course I am right." She looked at Mafalda in dissatisfaction, "By the way, what is that nauseous looking thing you have about your shoulders. It reminds me of drowned rat fur."
Mafalda's hands immediately flew to the soft otter fur stole around her shoulders and clutched it tightly in worry; she had received it as a gift from a rich aunt and it was one of her finest pieces of clothing – something that she would have never been able to afford on her Ministry salary. Privately, she thought spitefully that Edgecombe's robes were a rather revolting shade of magenta but she stayed silent as her friend continued to pick apart her choice of dress for the evening.
Finally the chime sounded and it was with relief as Mafalda walked quickly into the small theatre. Settling into her seat, she squinted in the dim lighting at the playbill. Blodwyn Bludd, a famous bass-baritone singer, was opening the evening with Don Giovanni before delving into several Russian arias.
She sighed happily as he walked on the stage and bowed to the applause. Unlike most performances, there was no glaring spotlight that pointed at him. Instead, the stage was only slightly brighter than the rest of the room and the orchestra was mostly in shadow.
As he sang the first note, Mafalda's eyes began to get droopy and her vision a bit hazy as pleasure tickled down her spine and between her legs. She floated in a haze, she could see nothing but him; her extremities were numb and she couldn't move; her ears could not hear anything but his voice; she could no longer smell the perfume that wafted from Madam Edgecombe; her entire world, consciousness, and senses shrank and consisted entirely of Blodwyn, Blodwyn, Blodwyn.
xxxxxx
Blodwyn Blud wiped his mouth daintily before fixing his neck scarf in front of the mirror. When everything was to his satisfaction, he smiled to himself and watched with amusement as his thick lips revealed his fangs.
He hummed lightly as he thought of this evening's meal. As always, his performances mostly drew women. He wove his thrall into his voice to put his audience into raptures and then, when they were too far gone to notice anything, he would choose a few listeners with particularly weak minds and feed – but only a little from each person so they would not suspect anything. He allowed his orchestra to feed in a similar manner as well.
He sneered as he climbed the stairs in his mansion and thought of them. They were inferior vampires with some musical ability who had pledged to serve under him after the Ministry had cracked down on the old vampire regime. Driven by the aurors and by the law to desperation, many were captured and killed; those who survived were captured for experiments and imprisonment or were left bereft – stripped of their hoarded monies – homeless and jobless. His face twisted with cruel satisfaction as he thought of the previously arrogant vampire nobles who had looked down their noses at him who were now like his dogs. Unlike the other vampires, Blodwyn had no qualms about serving the wizards and adopting a simpering attitude to the Ministry. Unlike them, he had talents that allowed him to survive and flourish in this environment, making him very rich.
And of course, what truly set him apart from the rest was his pet.
He entered the completely dark and windowless room and looked at the figure nailed, chained, and staked to the wall in satisfaction. It was gagged, bound, and blindfolded. Its ears were stuffed with wax and a spell had removed its sense of smell; except for the sense of touch, he had deprived it of all its other major senses. Attached to the body hanging on the wall was a medical contraption that pumped blood from the husk of a comatose Muggle on the floor to it so that it could 'feed'. Blodwyn tisked as he noticed the state of the Muggle and reminded himself that he would need to find another as a replacement soon.
Swinging his crystal wine glass lightly, he walked towards the body on the wall. "Of course, wizards are nothing when compared to you." He stroked its face which now only held a shadow of a memory of its former beauty. There was a small silver object which stuck out of the neck like a faucet. Blodwyn reached for it and turned it, holding his glass underneath the spigot and watched in satisfaction as blood flowed out.
He sighed happily as he drank the blood. "Ah, there's truly no comparison, except perhaps a true pureblood. The secret to my success is you of course, though we shan't tell anyone lest I get into trouble, right?" He giggled madly before sighing. "If only you hadn't spurned me then," he murmured as he left the room, "perhaps I would have been a bit easier on you, my dear Alexandria." He smirked and congratulated himself on his expert 'tapping'.
xxxxxx
Harry trudged down to the Great Hall for Christmas dinner with the staff and the few students who stayed over the holidays. With fewer students in the school and few Ravenclaws to bother him as well as no classes, Harry was free to spend all day in the library and in unused classrooms to practise magic. In the past week, he had made excellent progress and he was able to supplement his learning with other books from the library; he'd found them by looking at the bibliography of the standard school books. In particular, he required lots of extra books on Defence Against the Dark Arts because Professor Lockhart was such an idiot and because he was interested in the subject that the school seemed set on sabotaging for the students. Harry still couldn't think of Quirrel without rolling his eyes; some defence teacher, he couldn't even talk to his students without stuttering in fear. He'd quit after Harry's first year because of "nerves". And now, Dumbledore had hired Lockhart. Surely the Headmaster knew what an incompetent the man was? From what Harry heard, the position had been plagued with useless teachers for the past several years.
Grumbling to himself, he let his eyes wander to the nooks and cranies in the walls. He'd read about a chamber that Slytherin had designed in the school before he had left Hogwarts and Harry had become quite enamoured with the idea. It had become a new habit for him to search for it whenever he wasn't working or eating.
So far, he'd found several little markings that Salazar Slytherin seemed to have left – small engravings or markings of snakes, all in the dungeons – but when Harry had reached out with his magic or had tried to speak to them, a talent that he had discovered as a child, all of them had been inert. They were nothing more than carvings in stone.
The doors to the Great Hall were open and he joined the sole table that was occupied by staff and students alike.
Harry quietly ate his food and kept his head down as conversations buzzed around him. Tonight was the first night that Professor Dumbledore had appeared since the news about Flamel had broken in the Prophet and, as ever, Harry couldn't help but be hyper-aware of the man. The Headmaster's magical energy was kept closely coiled and subdued but Harry could always feel its intensity and the tension that hummed through the air whenever Dumbledore was in the room.
The Headmaster had always seemed to watch him in his first year, though Harry had no idea why, but the man had seemed satisfied with whatever he was looking for and no longer paid him any attention whatsoever. Keeping his head down, he gulped down some pumpkin juice and wandered back to the library with a smile after pulling apart his Christmas cracker to find a very basic wand holster and several white mice.
xxxxxx
December soon ended and January and February also whizzed past. Before long, Harry found himself amongst a smaller number of students again for the two week Easter holidays. By that point, Harry was well into fifth year material and he believed that he could finish it up before the exam period to potentially start sixth year readings before he had to leave Hogwarts.
It was already past curfew when he left the library on tiptoes and with a disillusionment charm, eager to go to his customary unused classroom and practise charming legs onto teacups. He would have to wait until tomorrow to go to the owlry and try to transfigure an owl into a pair of opera glasses; hopefully the school owls wouldn't hate him too much when he was through.
He was walking quite calmly when his senses alerted him that several people were quickly approaching. Sure enough, not a second later, he heard a bang and a crash as Peeves whirled around the corner, hotly pursued by Mrs. Norris and Filch, who was yelling obscenities.
Despite his disillusionment charm, Harry immediately entered the first door on his right to duck out of the hallway. He put his ear on the door and was quite waited as the noise faded past.
"Mrrmph. Gimme back my glasses Hornbyyyy."
Harry whipped his head around to try to identify the speaker but he didn't see anyone. His special 'sense' also didn't feel the way it did when there were people around him. Soon enough, he heard a loud snore.
Murmuring a silencing spell on his shoes, Harry crept into what appeared to be a girl's bathroom and towards the noise, which came from one of the open stalls. Gripping his wand tightly, he peered in and saw and girl ghost fast asleep and muttering. Harry stared for a moment before sighing quietly and shaking his head. He snapped his fingers in her face but she continued on snoring.
Walking to a sink with the intent of washing his face, he was about to turn on the tap when he noticed a small snake marking next to the tap. This was particularly surprising because all the other snake markings in the school have been in the dungeons, near where Harry guessed the Slytherin dorms to be. Reaching out with his magic, he let out a slow breath when he realized that the snake reacted.
"Hello." He hissed quietly.
The little snake gave a wriggle but was otherwise silent.
Harry frowned. "Can you understand me?"
Again, another little wiggle.
"Is this the entrance to Slytherin's Chamber?"
Perhaps Harry was only seeing what he wanted to see but he thought that the snake moved more enthusiastically this time.
How do I get the thing to open up? He wondered. Maybe I should just try asking.
"If you know how, can you please open up –" Harry stopped talking when suddenly, the sink started to move and a passage appeared beneath his feet. I guess that did the trick, he thought wryly to himself.
Before he stepped down the pipe, he cast a strong sleeping spell on the ghost to make sure that she wouldn't wake up. Sliding down the passage, he landed on a mound of animal bones.
"Ugh," he groaned. I must be in Hogwarts' sewers.
There appeared to be a main tunnel in front of him and he cast what defensive charms he knew around himself in case of an attack before proceeding. He paused when he reached an incredibly long snake skin. Oh Merlin, this must have belonged to a basilisk before it was shed. The prospect of walking into a basilisk lair truly didn't appeal to him but he felt inexplicably compelled to continue onwards. I'll be able to sense it if it's close; a basilisk isn't like a ghost, he reasoned to himself.
Continuing on, he eventually entered a grand chamber with incredibly tall ceilings and stalactite formations at the very edges. I guess this used to be a cave under the lake before Slytherin renovated, he mused, glad that he had charmed his shoes so that they made no noise.
At the end of the Chamber, he saw a massive statue carved into the wall of an old wizard's face that Harry assumed to be Salazar Slytherin. There was also a round stone on a pedestal to the side. He marvelled at the sheer size of the wall carving before walking towards the pedestal to the left.
The pedestal was a very simple looking thing with very little ornamentation but along its edge, in capital letters read: "To seek one's kith and kin. United we prevail." On top of the stone pedestal was a round stone that was a murky dark green colour. Unsure of what it was, he was disinclined to touch it but again, he felt the same strange compulsion that he had felt since he had slid down the passage and it urged him to put his hands on the stone.
Slowly, with great trepidation, he gingerly reached out with his left hand. As soon as his fingertips made contact, he felt his hand sucked towards the rock until his entire palm and his finger were flat against its smooth surface. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen and he sighed in relief. Then – all of a sudden, a sharp pain slammed into his head like a wrecking ball knocking a hole into concrete and then – there was something alien in his mind. Awareness pulsed from that part of his head that wasn't. Harry blacked out.
xxxxxx
Tom Marvolo Riddle clicked his teeth together at the sudden intrusion into his mind.
Breathing heavily, he straightened up and immediately closed his eyes and calmed his mind; his Occlumency barriers were as strong as ever. He stilled and replayed the events. A foreign presence had made itself known but had done nothing else. It had not been an attack nor a probe. Riddle was certain that there was no magic that would allow two minds to connect unless there was simultaneous eye contact – unless the two wizards had a previous link. He had been careful not to create any such links with others and he knew of no link whose sole purpose was to announce the presence of either wizard – except for one. His Slytherin family connection. Another descendant must have discovered the Chamber of Secrets.
Lord Voldemort's lips pulled into a smirk and his eyes glinted.
xxxxxx
Harry awoke with a quiet groan. Sitting up, he winced as his head gave a twinge. Feeling around, he found a nice big bump on the back of his head from hitting the stone floor.
I've got to stop doing that, he thought to himself as he stood up and grabbed his wand.
The pain in his mind had disappeared and the strange 'other' that had suddenly appeared seemed to have settled quietly and curled itself into a small ball so that Harry didn't notice it until he cleared his mind and noticed the strange disturbance. It seemed to have a strange wall around it – like blankets – so that Harry couldn't actually 'touch' it and establish a connection. Unlike before, prodding at it caused him no pain only a vague sort of warmth.
He regarded the pedestal again. To seek one's kith and kin… He stroked his fingers over the words. Suddenly, a scrap of paper fluttered down. Grabbing it, Harry read the neatly inked script:
Congratulations on finding the Chamber.
If you are reading this then you have already touched the family stone. Its purpose is to announce your presence to other living members of the Slytherin clan. Perhaps, if you are lucky, you can discover who I am.
– 1957
No name and no other clues except for the year and some handwriting.
Harry sighed heavily, when was he going to stop getting questions and start getting answers?
The aria that Blodwyn sang at the beginning is from Don Giovanni and is called "Deh, vieni alla finestra". Many wizards through the years have tried to claim that the work was their doing but the opera is generally attributed to Mozart.
Deh, vieni alla finestra, o mio tesoro,
O come to the window, beloved;
Deh, vieni a consolar il pianto mio.
O come and dispel all my sorrow!
Se neghi a me di dar qualche ristoro,
If you refuse me some solace,
Davanti agli occhi tuoi morir vogl'io!
before you dear eyes I will die.
Tu ch'hai la bocca dolce più del miele,
Your lips are sweeter than honey,
Tu che il zucchero porti in mezzo al core!
your heart is sweetness itself:
Non esser, gioia mia, con me crudele!
then be not cruel, my angel,
Lasciati almen veder, mio bell'amore!
beg for one glance, my beloved!
Author's Note: I'm happy that I'm able to update within a reasonable period of time! =P Please note that the above translation is not my own, it's from the Aria-Database dot com. As ever, comments and criticism are appreciated.