*AUTHOR'S NOTE TO THE READER *
There is a slightly graphic scene at the beginning of this chapter, with subtle reference to some of the more brutal events of World War II. I still believe the story should be rated T, but if you disagree, please tell me and I will consider changing the rating to M. I've also taken the liberty of naming the basilisk. I hope you don't mind.
CHAPTER 7 – POWERFUL PLANS AND MASTERFUL MANIPULATIONS
"The thing that lives in the castle," said Aragog, "is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school."
"What is it?" said Harry urgently.
More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seemed to be closing in.
"We do not speak of it!" said Aragog fiercely. "We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times."
C of S – pg. 278
Germany, September of 1942
The acrid tang of burning flesh swirled around the stone encampment, sitting solemnly in the middle of the thick German forest. Inside, there were four people sat around a rectangular oak table, according to rank. At the head of the table sat a handsome man, with an air of mischievousness and a cruel slant to his smile. His feather-light blond hair wafted around him in the slight wind, and all eyes were focused on the wand twirling between his fingers. He spoke in a musical tone, addressing a teenage boy who sat at the opposite end of the table, reserved for those of the lowest rank.
"So. You return to offer your assistance. Tell me, what has brought about this change of heart?" The blond grinned wickedly, because he knew perfectly well what had changed the young man's mind.
"Red is quite a lovely color on your lover. It really brings out the green in her eyes, wouldn't you agree?" The man snapped his fingers, and instantly a girl appeared on the center of the table, bound tightly in coarse ropes, blood pouring from a deep wound on her chest.
"Carlotta!" The young man cried, leaping to his feet. He was immediately restrained by the two guards seated next to him.
Musical laughter rang through the hall as the man at the head of the table threw back his head in obvious delight.
He approached the center of the table, light blue eyes fixed on the face of the anguished teenager.
"Yes," he whispered softly, never taking his eyes off the boy, "red becomes the lady nicely." He dipped a finger into the wound on the girl's chest, dragging it around to smear the blood on the delicate skin of her neck.
The girl's eyes widened, but only a hoarse whimper of pain escaped her expertly gagged mouth.
"No!" the boy struggled to escape from the hold of the two guards, his face a mask of desperation. "Please, I'll do anything! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Just please, please don't hurt her!"
The blond smiled widely.
"Mr. Black. How very… accommodating of you. She is a rather fine specimen. It would be a pity to waste all that energy." He snapped his fingers and the girl vanished instantly. He signaled the two guards still grasping the young boy, and they released him roughly on the floor before their master before exiting the room.
The blond looked at the door as it slammed shut.
"Such obedient guards. I prize obedience, and I require it from all those who serve me. And yet you ran from your post. Have you no sense, boy? You will be return to Durmstrang as soon as this conversation is over, or I'll cloak the beautiful Miss Pinkstone in red. Notice how I haven't cursed you yet? From this point for word, she flesh shall bruise for every mistake you make. You will never betray me again, do you hear me, Black?" The man's voice trailed off as he glared mercilessly at the boy cowering in front of him. Birds warbled sadly in the desolate silence, as the wind beat more intensely on the stone structure.
Back inside, the man swished his feather-light hair out of his eyes, and in an instant, his anger was replaced by a confusing merriment.
"But why should we let our unfortunate history lay between us like a plague? I am a generous master. I propose we start over. Act as if none of that disappearance nonsense had ever occurred. You go back to Durmstrang, prepare for your mission, and we'll pretend nothing happened. Of course, I will still hold Miss Pinkstone captive and she will still be punished for any actions that bring your loyalty into question. Yes, I quite like the idea of starting anew." He held out his hand, which the boy took hesitatingly from his position on the ground.
"I am Gellert Grindelwald. And you are?"
Gulping, the boy played along.
"A-Alphard Black, sir. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
Gellert grinned as he helped the boy to his feet.
"Here, boy, come take a seat. And don't mind the smell."
Alphard Black gulped, accidentally taking a deep breath of the heady smell of war. Grindelwald merely laughed musically as his reinstated 'assistant' choked on the sickening air.
Hermione heaved a sigh of frustration, hair wild and frizzy in the early morning light of the library. She scanned the titles before her once more, but no – the book she wanted was assuredly not present.
It was her first Saturday of Hogwarts, 1942, and Hermione had decided she needed a better understanding of her situation. This meant, in plainer terms, that a visit to the library had been in order. It was quite early in the morning, not yet six o' clock, and her haven was temporarily deserted (which suited her fine).
She wanted to start at the root of the problem, and from her point of view, this meant discovering the identity of her three 'aunts.' They had not exactly been forthcoming.
After perusing the titles in front of her for a final time, Hermione dragged her feet back to the study table where she'd decided to set up camp. The whole table was covered by books of varying sizes, some with old, fraying covers, and others looking new as the books that usually graced the shelves of Flourish and Blotts. There was only a small square showing of the original wood of the table, and Hermione's notes lay spread haphazardly in this spot.
The topmost parchment was headed with the title The Three Glowing Women – Known Information, and beneath it were the following words and phrases written in her careful hand:
Physical Description: Three women, radiating light, golden dresses, #1 = tall and spoke the most (leader?), blonde curls, silver necklace, #2 = winks, short and #3 = serious, long dress
Time Suspension – i.e. they don't experience time the way that I do. They said that all events, for them, occur in one moment. Is that even possible? Obviously, this indicates that they are more than mere mortals. Also, the power when #1 conjured those silver chairs seemed almost otherworldly.
Location: First seen in what I believe was a room in the Department of Mysteries, but because of the curse, I was unconscious when I entered this room, meaning that I could have been moved to an entirely different location. Maybe I wasn't even in the Ministry at that point. They also mentioned that this was not their normal state, which seems to go along with the 'time suspension' necessity.
Speculation on Identity: They mentioned universal law, Despair (almost as though it were a being, instead of a feeling, I think they called it the collective, darker forms of evil), and powers above their own. This further supports the idea that they are not mortal, but perhaps have a divine origin. Also, Ariana Dumbledore was able to give them her heart, which they were in turn able to bestow upon me. They obviously have the power to hold hearts. They seemed wise, and obviously withheld a lot of information.
My Role: They want me to right two wrongs. Why me? They gave me a heart to do so.
Underneath this first parchment were several others, each filled to the brim with notes written in an increasingly desperate hand.
Hermione twirled the quill in her fingers, gazing down at her notes with a frown. She had a lot of work to do if she wanted to get this sorted out. The immediate problem, however, was deciding which avenue to pursue.
It was not even seven o' clock in the morning and her eyes already ached with the promise of a monstrous headache.
Perhaps I should start by looking for books about wizarding deity, to see if these three sisters match any descriptions of divine beings. There might even be myths or stories that speak of the transference of hearts.
I think as far as my actual quests are concerned, I should start by looking into Professor Dumbledore's background. His brother would probably be a good source and maybe he's still somewhere in the castle? And I guess I'll just continue befriending Dolohov. Ugh, and I need to figure out what's going on with stupid Grindelwald. Or maybe I should just go crawl back into bed and I'll wake up and realize that this is nothing but a horrible nightmare…
The door to the library shut with a quiet click that nonetheless caught Hermione's attention. She suppressed a groan when she caught a glimpse of a familiar face through the long rows of shelved books.
It wasn't that she disliked Riddle, per say, but his company was quickly becoming an annoying familiarity that she didn't particularly feel like enduring at so early an hour.
The past few days, Hermione had found herself spending her time with two distinct groups of people: the Gryffindors, and Antonin's strange Slytherin duo, which consisted of himself and Riddle. She had been pleasantly surprised at the ease which with her fellow housemates had accepted her. She genuinely liked Marlene, Hagrid, and Minerva, and they had been quick to introduce her to their groups of friends. It was fascinating to recognize so many of the names and faces from old Order photographs or wizarding history books. In Gryffindor, she'd been able to meet Neville's grandparents, Augusta Sproggs III and Denby Longbottom, Septimus Weasley (whose future son would be Ron's dad!), Ciceron Harkiss (she'd once heard the owner of Honeydukes mention the name), Dorcas Meadowes, an oddly self-assured fourth-year, Octavius Pepper, and a surprisingly small Kingsley Shacklebolt. It was confusing to remember all the names, and she was sure Septimus Weasley had caught her staring at him strangely on more than one occasion because he looked so much like Ron, but Hermione was simply fascinated to meet all of the quasi-strangers.
She would have been quite content to spend all her free time with the Gryffindors, but Antonin Dolohov seemed to have stubbornly decided that they were going to be friends. She half-heartedly recognized that this was good for her own plans, especially if he was the Indifference Child. Unfortunately though, wherever Antonin went, Riddle was never far behind. It was bothersome, because while Antonin was a surprisingly pleasant conversationalist, Tom Riddle was about as talkative as a dead flobberworm.
Hermione couldn't understand why Riddle continued to shadow them, but Antonin acted like the behavior was normal. Everyone else seemed to like Riddle well enough, especially the teachers, which was another point of frustration for Hermione (she was used to being the favorite, and Riddle quietly seemed to hold that position).
In her first year at Hogwarts, Hermione had been wary of the strange relationship that existed between Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Malfoy had been the arrogant, swaggering leader and Crabbe and Goyle had acted like his honored bodyguards, silent and menacing. Riddle was rather silent too, but that was where the similarities between the two relationships ended. Riddle's presence was not subservient. He did not treat Antonin like his master; if anything, Antonin almost seemed to fear his fellow Slytherin, although he did a good job of hiding it.
There was a menacing edge to Riddle's aura, and Hermione had unintentionally noticed herself shying away from him on several occasions over the course of the past few days. If he had noticed, he'd given no indication.
Hermione slumped in the cold library chair, hoping to hide behind her books so that Riddle wouldn't notice her. And that was another problem. No matter how many times he insisted, she couldn't address him as Tom. The name left a strange, bitter taste in her mouth, almost as if she'd heard it before in a darker context. She couldn't remember ever meeting a Tom that she didn't like. The innkeeper at the Leaky Cauldron was the first Tom to come to mind, and she couldn't imagine a kinder fellow.
Hermione saw a slight movement to her left before she noticed a pale hand reaching forward to trace the golden title of one of the books she'd selected for her research.
With an internal groan, Hermione turned to look up into the face of Riddle.
He met her stare, continuing to trace the old book's title with his slender fingers.
Hermione waited to see if he would say something, but he just kept gazing at her. She started fidgeting, slightly unsettled, and stood up abruptly, collecting her parchments as she did so.
Riddle frowned, but still said nothing.
Hermione bustled about in the tense silence, prolonging the inevitable small talk, making a fuss over packing her bag and slinging it across her shoulder. Finally, she straightened her back, picked at some nonexistent lint on her school skirt, and waited for Riddle to say something. She was determined that he speak first, after disrupting her little studying sanctuary.
And he better have a good reason for doing so, or this headache is going to become epic.
"Are you still interested in taking Care of Magical Creatures?"
Hermione's face broke into a startled happy expression as she momentarily forgot her ire with the boy in front of her.
"Yes! I mean, of course I'm still interested! I would love to take the class!"
"You don't think it would be too heavy a load for you, what with the other subjects you're taking?" Riddle asked, watching her closely.
"Of course not!" Hermione replied defensively, with a haughty sniff and a glare for the person who dared to suggest she couldn't handle another class. Riddle was instantly back on her list of obnoxious people. Voldemort was at the top, followed by Rita Skeeter, Umbridge, Marietta Edgecombe, the entire Malfoy family, Ron (he appeared and disappeared from the list at regular intervals), stupid Death Eaters, and a small slew of others. Riddle was quickly moving towards the upper part of the list.
Riddle must have sensed the sudden hostility, because he held his hands up in a gesture of supplication. "I didn't think so, I was just checking to make sure because this past week can't have been easy on you. You've been handling everything brilliantly; it was stupid of me to ask. I'm sure you're more than capable. You're actually quite amazing." He whispered this last part, eyes focused imploringly on her the entire time.
Hermione blinked, feeling somewhat mollified.
"That was… thoughtful of you, Riddle. I'm sorry I snapped at you."
Riddle grinned, and Hermione had to stop herself from taking a step back as an uncomfortable chill shot down her spine. She forced a polite smile instead.
"It's quite alright, Hermione. At any rate, I've spoken with the headmaster, and he has given permission for you to take the class on Saturday, with me. It will be just the two of us; no one else wants to take eleven classes." He chuckled lightly.
"Alright, that sounds like a good arrangement. Where will we be meeting?"
"Well, I talked to the professor, Professor Kettleburn, and he asked that we meet by the old gamekeeper's cottage. He's going to discuss how we want to do the class. We have to do three hours a week, and he suggested we to two hours Saturday morning and one hour in the evening, and I told him that would work for me."
"That would work for me too. Did he mention any specific times, though?" Hermione was a bit taken aback. This was the most Riddle had spoken to her since they'd been introduced. Strange.
"Yes, he wants us to meet him at ten this morning, and I think he wants to start the evening lesson just after dinner."
"Ten? That's great. I suppose I'll see you there, then. I better be off, though. I want to do a bit of this homework before I go out, and Marlene's promised to help me on some review. Thanks so much for talking with the headmaster, it probably would have taken me a lot longer to get everything arranged. I've hardly seen him at all since arriving, and I was beginning to think he was a myth!" Hermione bit her lip, and hoped he couldn't see through her slight lie and was focusing on her assessment of the headmaster instead of her hasty departure. Marlene hadn't specifically told her they would study this morning, but she was anxious to get away from Riddle and besides, she wanted to start researching the identity of the three sisters.
Tom chuckled again before holding out his arm.
"No, he just doesn't strike a very imposing figure. I'm sure he's been around more than you've realized. May I escort you to Gryffindor tower? I'm assuming that's where you'll be meeting Marlene."
Hermione reluctantly grasped his arm, and followed him out of the library to Gryffindor tower.
It wouldn't hurt me to be nicer to him. It's silly of me, really, to have such an aversion to his company. It was quite kind of him to get me into Care of Magical Creatures, after all.
With these thoughts in her mind, Hermione determinedly made small talk with Riddle all the way up to her Common Room. However, she couldn't quench the wave of relief she felt when she was finally tucked away from his eyes, back behind the familiar safety of the fat lady's portrait.
Tom, for his part, had noticed Hermione's stiff posture and reluctant smiles, and was mildly puzzled. From an early age, he had taken to watching and observing people and he took great pride in his ability to understand the people around him. It had never been hard for him to charm the ones he wanted to charm. It was usually ridiculously easy. He truly did have a mental dossier on everyone he met. All he needed was to think of a name, and his brain would supply the basic facts. He'd catalogued quite a few of his peers and teachers over the years.
Horace Slughorn. Pureblood. Potions professor. A proud, disillusioned man whose self-esteem balances on the approval of so-called superiors. He has a weakness for candied pineapples and promising youth. He adores collections of all kinds, with a good eye for rarities. He looks up to Albus Dumbledore.
Marlene McKinnon. Pureblood. Graceful girl, but secretly mischievous, though none of the teachers have noticed. She has a penchant for breaking rules. She is the only person Eileen Prince speaks to with any sort of regularity. A member of the Gobstones Club. Hates Tavarius Travers, whom she'd once hexed with a Bat Bogey hex (he foolishly tried to kiss her). Smart, particularly skilled with arithmancy.
Emorois Avery. Pureblood. Weak-minded, easy to sway. Rich, and loves to let everyone know it. Snubs those he views as poor or inferior. Hates all things muggle, including those that are muggle-born. Not a particularly strong wizard. Seeks to be in positions where he can benefit from the powerful, without actually having to do anything particularly challenging himself. Idolizes Abraxas Malfoy and Rousset Lestrange.
The list went on and on in his head.
Walden MacNair. Caspar Crouch, Head Boy. Myrtle Henderson. Tiberius McLaggen. Kagan Prewett and Septimus Weasley, who basically count as one person.
Tom shook himself from his thoughts and focused again on the Hermione problem.
He was very good at manipulating people, at worming his way into the affections of others. It was a simple matter of recognizing insecurities, personalities, and using the information to act in the way that would cause the person he was concentrating on to become totally enamored with him.
There had been people in the past that had taken a while to warm up to Tom, but he always managed to gain their adoration in the end.
Well, with the exception of that old fool, Dumbledore. But he's a bit on the crazy side; I can hardly be expected to understand what goes on in his head.
Hermione, however, was a different form of challenging. Tom was having an insanely difficult time getting a read on her. She sometimes frowned or smiled at the strangest moments. Most confusing, though, was her aversion to him. He had been nothing but nice and charming since meeting the little chit, and she continued to act almost wary around him. It was unbelievably frustrating!
Especially because of how much she seemed to like Antonin Dolohov, loner extraordinaire, after just a few days. Tom was beginning to regret ordering the boy to befriend her. She wasn't of any particular importance; but now, Tom was taking her dislike of him personally. He was determined to have her eating out of his hand before the year was out.
Antonin Dolohov was a pureblood, but he had always been careful to distance himself from the other famous students of Slytherin, like Malfoy and the Rosiers. Dolohov was on speaking terms with them, of course, but ever since first year he'd been known for his quiet demeanor and reclusive tendencies.
This was one of the reasons Tom had picked Dolohov as his first 'experiment.' Dolohov didn't have any real friends, so no one would be watching him too closely.
Tom had befriended Dolohov towards the end of their fourth year. Naturally, because it was Tom, it had taken a very short time to have the young man wrapped around his finger. And then, when Dolohov was bathed in a false sense of security, Tom had seen fit to reveal his true personality: and had thus successfully gained his first follower. Dolohov was still wrapped around his fingers, but now Dolohov stuck to him out of fear, which was just how Tom preferred it.
Tom smiled grimly as he approached his favorite part of the dungeons, the deepest place he knew of in the castle. He quieted his footsteps as he walked up to a hideous statue of a hissing snake. He leaned close and hissed a single word in Parseltongue.
"Open."
The statue seemed to flicker in the light of the torches, as the mouth of the snake quickly widened, unfurling its' smooth stone tongue to reveal a dark passageway. Tom stepped directly into the mouth of the snake, and started down into the darkness as the mouth silently closed behind him. After walking downwards for a few minutes, the air getting cold enough to draw forth goosebumps on his pale skin, Tom saw a familiar light at the end of the tunnel.
He eventually emerged into a small room, with a crackling fireplace and a single velvety green armchair. Tom immediately took a seat and closed his eyes before calling out into the room, his voice hissing as it once more formed around the sibilant tones of Parseltongue.
"Ssssylvia. I am here."
His voice sent magical vibrations through the stone walls of the castle, and soon he could hear returning vibrations that would have made a weaker man quake in fear.
"Young massster. How may I be of servisssse?"
Tom was tempted to tell Sylvia that she could just tell him where the Chamber of Secrets was. And what kind of creature she was. And how to go about gaining power and fulfilling his role as the Heir of Slytherin.
Unfortunately, he knew from experience that she wouldn't be able to answer any of those questions; she was bound by some power, and it irritated Tom beyond belief that he had such a possible wealth of information at his hands and couldn't take advantage of it. Still, he would take what he could get, and the more Tom sought to fulfill his 'role,' as Slytherin's Heir, the more information Sylvia seemed to be able to provide.
"Ssssylvia. I need to get the Ssssorting Hat, but it is kept warded ssssecurely. Issss there a way I can break the wardssss?"
Tom waited patiently for the creature's response.
"Yesss, young massssster. Look into the fire, and consssentrate on the knowledge you seek. A book shall appear."
Tom stood quickly and took two short steps until he stood before the glowing fireplace. Before he could concentrate on what he needed, though, he was interrupted by Sylvia's vibrations again.
"Little Heir. You need to begin gathering followerssss. It issss what He would have done. Do you require any other servisssses from your faithful sssservant?"
"No, Ssssylvia, you have been mossst helpful. You may go."
"Thank you massster."
Tom felt the vibrations as Sylvia moved away. He still hadn't figured out how she got around, or even if she had a physical body, although if she was really the creature from the Chamber of Secrets (as he suspected), she almost certainly did.
Tom shivered in nervous anticipation as he turned back to focus his attention on the orange flames of the fire. He thought hard about what he wanted.
I need a way to break the wards on the Sorting Hat.
Tom didn't bother to suppress a grin of triumph as he watched a book slowly materialize in the midst of the roaring flames. It floated out, unharmed but pleasantly warm, to land in his open hands. Tom eagerly returned to his seat in the middle of the room and began to read.