Magical Me
By Publicola

Published: 8-21-12

Dealing with Diaries

We turned in for the night shortly thereafter, and it was early morning before I knew it. As was my custom, I checked my post over breakfast.

Mr. Lockhart,

Thank you for your note. My work at St. Mungo's precludes me from meeting you during the week, but there is no such obstacle to meeting this weekend. Therefore, my husband and I would cordially invite you for tea on the afternoon of Sunday the 16th. As a solicitor he has some training in the Occlumentic arts, and has agreed to your request to be bound by oath.

Kindly respond if the date works to your satisfaction.

Andromeda Tonks

I responded, agreeing to the date and thanking her for taking such precautions before informing her husband. I was amused by her mildly defensive tone, in presenting her husband's involvement as a fait accompli, but I could certainly appreciate her taking the initiative.

By the time I finished checking the mail, the time was ten minutes to 8, so I handed the one to Ozymandias, grabbed the other for drop-off at the Diagon Dispatch, and Flooed out to the Leaky Cauldron.

I arrived in the lobby of Gringotts with a few minutes to spare. "Excuse me," I motioned over a goblin, "could you kindly direct me to Conference Room D? I have an appointment, you see, with—"

"Ah, shaddup an' follow me."

You learn something new every day. Turns out goblins really aren't morning people.

Of course, if I complained about the poor customer service, the goblin would probably get a promotion for pissing off a wizard. So I held my peace and followed.

The conference room in question was down several dimly lit corridors and abrupt corners. I felt like I was walking into an alley to be mugged. Bastards probably designed it that way. But I was soon shown the door and left to enter on my own.

Bill Weasley was nearer my own age than I expected. I knew he was Arthur's eldest son, but hadn't realize the time gap between him and his siblings. He was only 6 or so years younger than me– he'd probably finished First Year around the time I had graduated.

He walked over to me extending his hand. "Mr. Lockhart! It's a pleasure to meet you. Gornuk mentioned you had requested this meeting, though I'm surprised he managed to pull me from Egypt so quickly. You must have some influence with the Clans."

I shrugged, grinning. "I may have done Ragnok a favor or two."

I nearly laughed at the incredulous look he shot me. "The Clan leader owes you a favor? Merlin, Mr. Lockhart! No wonder they got me here so fast. Ragnok must be pissed!"

Now I did laugh. "Yes, I got that sense. Oh, and call me Gilderoy."

"All right, Mr. – Gilderoy, what'd you need me for? Gornuk told me I'm assigned to you for the day."

"First things first – does your employment at Gringotts prevent you from taking confidentiality oaths for clients?"

"Not at all." At that he drew his wand in a single swift motion and swore the oath. It was remarkably airtight. "Standard policy," he informed me as the wisps of light settled. "Goblins do not abide traitors, and magical oaths are the best way of ensuring that. Gornuk will be the only one to see my report, and he's bound to abide by the same terms I just gave."

"Very well. Mr. Weasley, as you may have heard. I will be the new Defense Professor this year at Hogwarts. When I made the announcement a few days ago, I noticed that a cursed object had been planted with the school supplies of one of my students. I retrieved it, but did not feel competent to deal with it on my own." He nodded knowingly – curse breaking was a hazardous profession. "I've kept it stored in my flat, so you'll have to follow me there."

"Wait, it's just lying around?" Bill sounded slightly panicked.

"No no, I have it in a covered bronze cauldron."

"Magically insulated." He looked relieved. "Well done."

"Does Gringotts have a Floo, or will we need to take the ones by the Leaky Cauldron?"

"There's the employee Floo in the back that clients can use if accompanied."

"Very well. Show the way?"

He slung his gear across his back and led me out into the corridors. "By the way, if I can call you Gilderoy, then surely you can call me Bill."

"If you insist."

He chuckled. "Mum would go spare if she knew I was working with you. She's a big fan of yours."

"I know, I've met her," I said with chagrin.

"Oh?"

"Last week, at a book signing."

"Ah." We entered a room with wall-to-wall fireplaces. "Here we are."

"I'll need to key you in on the other side."

"Naturally. The Floo address?"

I took the powder, "Lockhart Hall" and stepped through.

A minute later he stepped out after me. "Nice place."

"Thank you. Glitzy!"

Pop! "Yes Master?"

"Please bring me the cauldron where I placed the diary. Oh, and bring the other diary I purchased as well."

Bill's eyebrows raised, "Diary?"

"Have a seat and I'll tell you." Glitzy popped back with both items. "I purchased a replica of the cursed object in case I needed to use a switching spell to retrieve it. It wasn't necessary, but it's a useful prop." I tossed it to him; his eyebrows shot up as he examined it in his hands. "As it you can, it's an old school book belonging to a Tom Marvolo Riddle. Are you familiar with the name?" He shook his head. "It's the birth name of the man commonly known as Lord Voldemort."

His eyes widened and his breath quickened. He soon calmed down, though, and his brow furrowed in thought. "Marvolo… Volde…" he looked up. "It's an anagram, isn't it? The only unused letters are M, A, and I… and those could just go at the beginning. 'I am Lord Voldemort'?"

Damn, he reminded me of Filius. "How'd you get that so fast?"

"Cryptography's a big part of being a curse-breaker. A lot of Egyptian wizards went for that sort of thing, though their idea of a riddle would more often involve sphinxes, embalming curses, and a metric shitload of sand."

I chuckled. "Sand?"

"You have no idea." He set the diary aside. "Anything else I should know?" I shook my head. "Right then." He took out two dragon-hide gloves and slid them on. Reaching over, he began to gently ease the cover off the cauldron, pausing momentarily when the hermetic seal broke. He nodded towards me, "There's a weak compulsion charm, probably meant to have a gradual effect."

"How—?" I felt nothing.

"Curse-breaker, remember? We train ourselves to be sensitive to these things."

Impressive. "Huh."

He set the cover aside and lifted the diary out by hand. Setting it on the table, he began to cast, barely pausing for breath as he murmured incomprehensible words and moved his wand in an intricate dance. At first there was nothing, but then I saw pulses of light shoot from his wand to the diary. The initial pulses seemed to have no effect, but soon the diary began to react, glowing or vibrating as each pulse struck. I glanced back at the Curse-Breaker, whose face had rapidly gone pale.

Finally, with the last burst of light from the diary, Bill stopped and stared numbly at the book. "Shit." He turned to me with the vacant expression, honestly at a loss for words. "This… well damn."

"What is it?"

He shook himself. "Mr. Lockhart – Gilderoy – I know in this case you're the client, but… I wouldn't feel right sharing this information unless you took a secrecy oath yourself."

"That bad?"

"Worse."

I considered it for a second. I had plans to tell others, Filius at least, about the horcruxes, but I needed the information he could give me. "How about this – I won't share the information you provide with anyone who isn't bound by a vow of secrecy? I'm working quite closely with a number of other individuals who are all oathbound."

He thought for a second, "You trust them?"

"As far as I trust anyone these days," I said glibly.

He snapped, "Cut the crap, Gilderoy. I've only faced this sort of magic once before, but it was the blackest stuff I'd ever seen."

I nodded, more seriously this time. "Yes. I trust them."

"Good. Make your oath."

As the wisps of light settled over me, I found it was actually something of a relief to know that Bill took this information as seriously as he did.

"All right. While you still have your wand out, there's a very simple charm I'd like you to cast."

I coughed, "Pardon?"

"The incantation is Hominem Revelio – I trust you're familiar with it?"

"Of course," I sniffed. Before he could respond, I incanted the spell. Pinpricks of light shot out: once, twice – thrice? I turned to Bill with a question in my eye, Occlumency ensuring my surprise was genuine. "How—?"

"Have you ever wondered why men like me still have a job? Curse-breakers have been working in Egypt for centuries, so how are there still tombs and treasures waiting to be found?"

I looked at him carefully. "I never considered it. I suppose…" I trailed off.

"Of course. Settle in, it's a long story. You see, Egyptian tombs are unlike any others you can find, for Egyptian mages specialized in a particularly dark form of magic – namely, the magic of the soul. It was this specialty that enabled them to place semi-sentient defenses around their crypts, summon the first dementors, and judge their enemies' souls. When the Olympian mages finally rose against the immortal tyrants we now call Titans, it was by Egyptian magic that the fallen souls were bound to the prison Tartarus. Ironic, that in the end it was mages from Greece who toppled the Egyptian legacy."

I stopped him, "But how could Egypt fall, with such power at their disposal?"

He smiled wanly, "We can make an educated guess. From granary records, we know that there was a particularly long stretch – nearly four hundred years – where Egypt and most of Mesopotamia suffered from on-again off-again famines. In the end the Egyptian mages developed a ritual to address the recurring issue. Reportedly, the ritual would give the Nile River a degree of sentience, allowing it to control its own flood seasons and avert famine. It would have been the greatest achievement of nature magic the world had ever known, but for one thing: it was not a nature magic, but soul magic. You see, the ritual required the sacrifice of several thousand male infants."

I paled.

"It appears that the Egyptian mages volunteered a few of their enslaved tribes to shoulder the burden. It took a couple of decades for the tribes to recuperate, but at last they rebelled against their captors and fled into the desert." He paused, trying to find the words. "You must understand, Egypt was one of the most carefully administered empires of the ancient world. They kept records of everything. The only records they didn't keep were those that concerned matters of dishonor, such as military defeat, and for powerhouses like Egypt, such defeats were rare. The year of the slaves' departure… not a single record is preserved. Every one of them was destroyed. We don't know what the tribes did when they left, but it must have been devastating. When the records pick up the following year, it is clear that Egypt had been broken in every way."

He took a deep shuddering breath. "They tried to cut themselves off from the rest of the world, but with a decimated army and drastically weakened population, that soon proved impossible. They were soon subject to Nubian raiders from the south, and Assyrian invaders from the east. Their temples were sacked, their treasures pillaged, and their magicks stolen. Soul magic was already seeded throughout Mesopotamia to spread Egyptian influence, but now it flourished. Only one region proved immune to its allure, for they well knew the horrific cost of such power. Rather than embrace it, the mages of Greece and later Rome declared their intent to eradicate all traces of soul magic. Under Alexander the Great, they nearly succeeded. Only one Phoenician outpost escaped the purge, and that fell to the Romans during the Punic Wars."

"The legacy of Egyptian soul magic was lost to time, besides what little was preserved in the crypts, with only one exception. A single piece of arcane was smuggled out, by a Greek wizard and aspiring Dark Lord known as Herpo the Foul. This magic was called the horcrux, or soul jar, and that is what we are dealing with today. You see, the purpose of a horcrux is to preserve the immortality of its creator."

My eyes widened theatrically, and he nodded. "Precisely. I'm quite sure that this diary is a horcrux, one belonging to the former Dark Lord"

"So that's how he survived!"

"Pardon?" He sputtered. Whatever Bill had expected my response to be, this was clearly not it.

I gave him the same information I'd given the goblins, regarding Quirrell, the fake Philosopher's Stone, and the wraith that had for so long inhabited the forests of Albania.

"So the Headmaster knew of You-Know-Who's survival? But — no, that can't be right, he'd have suspected there was a horcrux involved for sure."

I cocked my head, "You think?"

"Yes. I mean, obviously I'm not an expert in this sort of thing, but as far as I know horcruxes are the only method used to avert death, at least since the fall of Egypt. Even the Philosopher's Stone is limited to merely creating an elixir that prolongs life."

"Huh." I considered this for a moment. "But… in that case, why aren't horcruxes more widely used? For that matter, why are we not overrun with immortal dark wizards?"

He smiled, this one more genuine. "Horcruxes are rare for two reasons. First, the immortality of your soul will only be as secure as its container, which is often quite vulnerable. Second, and more significantly, the magic enacts quite a grave cost to their creator, which is why even the worst Dark Lords tend to shy away from this method."

"How so?"

"I am informed," Bill answered gravely, "that the procedure for creating a horcrux involves shredding one's soul by first committing the murder of an innocent, then transferring a single shard of that soul to a magical container. Such an act constitutes profound self-mutilation, and the damage to the soul is irreversible."

I stopped him. "How could it be irreversible? I was taught that every magical effect has a counter, so long as the effect isn't fatal. That's Waffling's Third Law, isn't it?"

"Good memory, Gilderoy, and you're right to bring that up. But consider Galpalott's Fourth Law: certain blended potions are impossible to counteract, when the antidote would react violently with any element of the original. The same principle applies in this case. The soul does more than give us life. It gives us our humanity, allows us to distinguish the true, the good, and the beautiful. A fractured soul is incapable of perceiving such qualities. So yes, the damage wrought by a horcrux can be undone – according to the theory, a single moment of true contrition would draw the scattered fragments together. But anyone who tears their soul apart has already lost the ability to feel remorse, since they are no longer able to comprehend what 'goodness' means. It's a pointless provision."

My objection stymied, I paused for a second. "Even so, why should the loss of one's morals dissuade someone already committed to a life of evil? Surely the temptation of immortality would prove too great for any dark lord, even if a horcrux were irrevocable."

"That's certainly true, if the loss were limited to their moral and aesthetic sense. But there is a third component of the soul: one's ability to reason and discern truth. The true cost of immortality is one's intelligence. For most dark wizards, that is far too steep a price to pay."

Ah. Then I made another connection. "I suppose…. Well, that might explain why Voldemort secured this horcrux so poorly."

He chuckled, "You may be right. If he weren't able to think straight, he might easily come to leave his anchor of immortality lying around. So tell me, how did you come across it?"

"I believe I mentioned that I found it planted on one of my students? I didn't want to distract you earlier, but I'll tell you now: the student in question was your little sister, Miss Ginny Weasley."

His face contorted in rage and concern. "Who—?"

"The diary was planted on her by Lucius Malfoy. I believe he was entrusted with it by his master, though not informed of its true nature. Malfoy's feud with your father is rather legendary; I imagine he simply wished to cause trouble."

He struggled to control himself. "I trust this will be brought before the Ministry?"

"One of the allies I mentioned earlier was Madame Amelia Bones of the DMLE." It wasn't really an answer to his question – I wasn't yet ready to bring the matter to Amelia – but the half-truth satisfied him. I moved on. "Besides the soul fragment, what else did you uncover about the object?"

"Actually, that was about it. It's a soul fragment, with memories, personality, and a small fraction of magical power, most of which has been geared towards maintaining the near-insurmountable protective charms. It also seems that the diary can borrow magical energy from anyone who writes in it, which may explain the mild compulsion to do precisely that. It's not a very strong compulsion, but then it's embedded in the leather cover, which is a very poor magical capacitor. Frankly, I'm impressed it's lasted as long as it has."

I could hardly believe my good fortune. "That's all?"

"Well, again, it's practically indestructible. But…" he peered at me more closely, "from the smug grin on your face, I'd say you've thought of a way around that."

"Several, actually. You reminded me of one when you were talking about Egypt. You said they summoned the first dementors – remind me, what do dementors eat, again?"

"Souls…" he breathed.

"Precisely. Stick the diary in front of one of 'em, and poof! There goes your anchor to immortality. But I was actually thinking of waiting on that for a while."

Bill was shocked. "What? Why would you want to keep it around? Merlin, it's what's keeping Voldemort alive, it—!"

"That's right, because it contains part of his soul, along with his memories, magic and personality, all wrapped up neatly in a leather-bound book. Think, man! You will never find a dark lord in a more helpless state than this – why not use it to our advantage?"

"Use it, how?" He sounded skeptical, but I could see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, I have a few ideas. Most people don't know this, but my first job out of Hogwarts was as a low-level Obliviator for the Ministry. I'm a bit out of practice, but mind magic has always been one of my specialties." I brought my wand out. "First things first, I have Occlumency shields, but compulsions always make me antsy. I'd remove them myself, but I don't know how to check if they're tied to the other charms or curses. Can you do the honors?"

"Certainly." A minute later and it was done.

"Wonderful. Now, even though it is an artifact, we know that there is still a mind present within, which makes it susceptible to mental influence." With that I began cast my strongest charms. "I am adding several layers of compulsion. Once I'm done, the diary will think that whichever person writes in it is in fact Lord Voldemort suffering from a Dissociative Fugue state – that is, amnesia combined with an identity crisis. That will in turn trigger the secondary compulsion, so the diary believes that the best way to restore his original self's memories is by answering any question and sharing any relevant information in a complete and honest manner.

The dumb look on Bills' face was priceless.

A thought struck me. "Oh, that reminds me. Glitzy!" My elf popped in. "Can you please bring me a few of the vials I had you purchase?" I turned to Bill, "I can also use compulsions to draw certain memories to the surface of its mind, making it easy to extract them for viewing in my pensieve."

I must admit, I was enjoying myself quite a bit at this point.

"One final thing. I trust you are familiar with Waffling's Fifth Law, the sympathetic principle?"

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Bill nodded. "Yes – 'certain objects may share a kind of natural sympathy, such that charms or enchantments cast on the one will affect the other.' Frazer defined that Law, along with one he called the Law of Contagion, where 'things that have once been in contact with each other continue to act on each other at a distance, after the physical contact as been severed.'"

Huh. "You've read The Golden Bough?"

He blushed, "I dated a muggle-born witch back at Hogwarts."

"Ah. I'm impressed you could quote all of that." Shaking my head, I moved on. "Anyway, as you said, similar objects can be connected such that changes to the one affect the other. This connection can of course be magically amplified. As it happens, we have here" – I pointed at the horcrux – "a diary enchanted with the soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle, while over here" – I pointed again – "we have an almost perfect replica of the same diary, but without the enchantments cast by a psychotic Dark Lord. The sympathetic link is already strong, but if you enhance it, we should be able to tie the diaries together such that all text written in the replica appears in the horcrux, and vice verse."

"Which lets you keep the horcrux magically insulated, while still learning whatever you need to ask!" he finished.

"Precisely. I won't even have to take it out of the bronze cauldron to reinforce the compulsions, either, since I can always cast them on the replica. Each individual compulsion may be weakened by the sympathetic displacement, but the layers should be just as effective overall."

"Bloody hell, that's brilliant." For a moment he sounded like Ron.

"Thank you," I said, as I danced a little jig in my head. "I'm rather pleased with the idea myself. Now, if you could kindly work on the sympathetics, I'll start working out a list of questions to ask and memories to view."

He nodded and turned his attention to the diaries.

"Glitzy!"

He popped in, "Master needs more vials?"

"No, we have plenty, thank you though. Could you bring me parchment and the writing supplies from my desk? Also my pensieve, if you would."

A few seconds later he returned, and I got to work on my wish-list.

My concern first and foremost was finding out everything Riddle had learned about horcruxes, and how he had planned to use them. Besides giving me the obligatory excuse to bring others up to speed about the multiple horcruxes, Riddle's research might clue me in to a way of dealing with horcruxes without destroying them. I hoped not only to protect Harry, but also to preserve all of the invaluable Founders' artifacts that Riddle had perverted.

I was further interested in learning Riddle's experiences as a parselmouth. This would ordinarily be more of an academic concern, but for the fact that I would soon be sharing a castle with a 1000-year-old basilisk, which pushed it higher on my list of priorities. I really hoped there'd be a way to safely control it as Riddle had done, at the very least to keep it away from the students.

Better yet I might even corral it towards the neighboring colony of giant man-eating spiders – two birds with one stone, and all that.

I also wondered if parseltongue could be used to cast spells, and if so, whether Riddle might have done any research into such a field. I imagine Harry would find parselmagic rather handy at some point.

My third area of interest would be in identifying Voldemort's lieutenants and supporters, both marked and unmarked. The diary was one of his first horcruxes, so any information it'd contain would probably be out of date, but it was still better than nothing. Certainly it'd give the lie to the "I was Imperiused!" defense.

Another thought I had would be to chronicle Riddle's encounters with Albus Dumbledore. I had little patience for those who painted Dumbledore an out-and-out Dark Lord, but I had a pretty profound distrust of the Headmaster. I wondered if he might not have inadvertently contributed to Riddle's slide into the Dark Arts. Perhaps it wouldn't pan out, but I still figured it'd be worth checking out.

It'd also be another opportunity to look for patterns in Dumbledore's behavior that I might exploit.

I suppose the last few items on my list were actually part of a much broader project I was contemplating: the autobiography of a Dark Lord. This was a diary, after all, and sifting through all of the facets of Riddle's history (not just the elements Rowling mentioned and I remembered from the books) would doubtless be of immense value.

By this time Bill had completed his charms work on the diaries, and waved me over to test it out. I got down to business.

'Hello, my name is Gilderoy Lockhart.'

Hello Gilderoy. My name is Tom Riddle. You may also address me as Lord Voldemort.

'What are you?'

I am a horcrux: that is, a fragment of my maker's soul. This diary anchors his spirit to this mortal plane.

Splendid. The compulsions and sympathetic charms worked flawlessly. I had been concerned that the text would appear in a jumble, or appear and disappear as in the original horcrux, but Bill's charms must have ensured that the text would be formatted correctly.

I turned to Bill. "I'm going to be pumping the diary for information, probably extract a few memories while I'm at it. You're welcome to whatever information I pick up, but it'll probably take a while. While you wait, would you be willing to ward some of my personal effects, for when I bring them back to Hogwarts?"

"Sure. What type of wards are you looking for?"

I wryly grinned, "Powerful but non-lethal. I'm told goblin wards are pretty secure?"

To my surprise he nodded, "Sure, that wouldn't be a problem." I honestly hadn't thought he'd go for it. At my incredulous look he explained, "Ragnok owes you a favor, so at least for the day you're upgraded to our 'very special client' category. I will need a vial of your blood though: goblin wards are keyed to blood signatures, which are far more precise than the core signatures most wizards rely on."

It was short work to siphon off my blood – Bill had dealt with goblin wards before – and a small healing charm took care of the nick in my arm. I made a quick list of various things to secure. The pensieve and memory cabinet sprang immediately to mind, but I also asked him to check the security on my mail box and trunks as well.

I turned back to the diary as he departed.

'Where did you first learn about horcruxes?'

My research began early in Fifth Year when was reading 'Magick Most Evil' for a DADA essay assigned by Professor Merrythought. The cryptic reference intrigued me, so I asked my study partner Dillus Rosier if he'd heard of it before. He pointed me to a biography of Herpo the Foul, where I learned that horcruxes were linked to the pursuit of immortality.

I'd already wheedled a pass for the Restricted Section out of Professor Slughorn – I was a favorite of his – so I read what I could and when the time came plied the Professor for more information. I'd already planned out how I would use such a device; all that remained was to learn how to create them. Fortunately, Professor Slughorn was rather easy to convince that this was purely an academic exercise. He pointed me towards 'Secrets of the Darkest Art,' which contained precisely the instructions I was looking for.

'What was your plan for using horcruxes?'

I had learned from my reading that no wizard ever survived the destruction of their horcrux, as even fragmented the souls were too entwined to survive for long apart. However, I also learned that no wizard had ever considered that making more than one would dilute the bonds and ensure survival even if any single fragment were destroyed.

I planned to create six horcruxes, which, counting myself, would total seven soul fragments – arithmantically the most powerful number. I also hoped to make horcruxes out of various artifacts belonging to the Founders, as they would amplify whatever power each fragment would carry. But I decided to first secure my immortality by making a horcrux out of this diary, which contained my greatest secrets, and proof of my claim to be the true Heir of Slytherin."

'What proof?'

This Diary contained a record of my search and discovery of the Chamber of Secrets, Salazar Slytherin's greatest legacy. I wrote down everything, from my earliest memories of speaking to snakes to my binding of the Great Basilisk that resided at the heart of Hogwarts.

There we go.

'Tell me about the Chamber of Secrets.'

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