Chapter Six

Lacole Natasha Riddle, was most likely the bane of Lucius Malfoy's existence. There could be no other reason why he would be forced to drink something so strong so early in the day. As Lucius threw back another shot of vodka, he glanced again at the letter lying by his untouched breakfast, written in Lacole's neat, precise hand.

Dear Lucius,

I have arrived at Hogwarts safely. The school is pleasant, yet rather mediocre in teachings, as you had predicted. However, I like to think that the poor standard of teaching is made up for in the wide variety of people within these walls. Although I have found most of my classmates to be below my intelligence, I have found a few who cause my interest, for example Fred and George Weasley.

The one factor I'm sure holds your interest is the result of my Sorting. I'm afraid that you shall be surprised, and I daresay, disappointed. I have been sorted into the House of Gryffindor. This is, in fact, my own decision, and I regret that I cannot explain to you my reasons in further detail within this letter. I understand that this news must cause you concern, but I urge you not to worry. I am, after all, my parents' daughter.

One thing you will be pleased to hear is that I find myself as efficent with my wand as I was with Magical Theory. I find that magic comes to me easily, not only neutral magic, but also magic more advanced. This, however, I found out quite by accident. A few Slytherins with whom I had before exchanged some words seemed rather troubled by the fact that Lucius Malfoy's niece might be a Gryffindor, and I regret to say that I went a little too far in my efforts to ressure them. Fortunately, the teacher who happened upon us was Professor Snape, and he took necessary measures.

Of course, I am very grateful to Professor Snape for his help. On that note, do you find that his name is rather familiar? Do you know where I might have heard it before? Professor Snape excluded, no other Professor has shown especial interest in me. However, I'm sure my worth will become obvious in time.

Of myself, I have no more to say. How are you, Narcissa, and Draco? I do hope Draco isn't still sulking. I would be delighted for any interesting news you might have if you have the time to tell me about them.

Regards,

Lacole Riddle

Reading it for the second time did not seem to have made it any more pleasant to Lucius. Good Merlin. Being sorted into Gryffindor! Fighting with Slytherins! Befriending Snape! Lucius could read between the lines, yes, the girl was still the same headache-inducing child as ever, but, truly-what more did she think she could do? And no matter what pretty and clever words she had to explain herself, Lucius knew, that if ever the Dark Lord returned, all this would be deemed his influence, and he would be punished for it. She, at least, had the insurance of being his child. Lucius, on the other hand, had no such luck. There was only one sure way for Lucius to ensure his safety-to put in an indisputable effort towards His return.

Lucius had wanted to play safe-he was a man with a family to think of-but Bellatrix just had to put this prickly problem into his hands. Well. Now, he had no choice. Lucius rose with a heavy sigh, stuffing Lacole's letter into his pocket with uncharacteristic roughness, and headed up to his study. Yes, he would be very busy. Several letters were already composing themselves in his mind.

While I had been convinced that Snape did not know anything about the icky subject of my parents, or one parent in particular, I seemed to have fully inherited my father's habit of being paranoid. That wasn't, however, my original reason for being out after curfew. Being a first year, I had no free periods, and I didn't have the time I might like to go through Hogwarts' extensive library. On this evening, I had sneaked out of the tower and made for the library. Unfortunately, I was still rather unfamiliar with the castle, and took the wrong stairs, putting myself on the fifth floor. It was here that I saw Snape.

I heard his voice just as I was about to round a corner, and froze where I was.

"But how can you explain to me that she knew that curse? It is not one that is well known." Snape's voice was soft, yet slightly agitated.

"There is surely an explanation for everything, Severus, and it is up to you to find out. Indeed, I wish you luck in finding an answer, both to your concerns and mine."

I heard a hiss of annoyance.

"You know something, old man. What aren't you telling me?"

"It is not that I won't tell you, indeed. But what I suspect is only that, guesses and suspicions. I would not like to tell you a thing that might not be true, and, truly, I hope not to be true."

"At least give me a clue!"

Snape's companion sighed.

"I can only tell you, that I connect her with a person…a person who disappeared long ago."

Snape made to speak, but his companion cut across him with a 'goodnight, Severus', and I heard footsteps coming my way. Panicking, I scrambled back, just about ready to turn myself into a fly on the wall, when I found a small alcove that saved me. I held my breath as Snape walked by me, half expecting my thudding heart to reveal me, but miraculously Snape had noticed nothing, he walked by me without a backward glance. Only after I was sure he was long gone did I dare to come out.

Rounding the corner that I had just eavesdropped at, I saw nobody, but there was an archway guarded by a stone gargoyle, and I thought that I had a pretty good idea who Snape had been talking to. I went over the little I had heard in my mind as I resumed my efforts to find the library. I had such a strange feeling that it was me that they had been speaking of, mainly because he had mentioned a curse.

I had also been wondering about the curse that I had used on Adrian Pucey, the curse my father had claimed uncounterable and yet Snape had countered. If there was one aspect of my father's character I believed in more firmly than his insanity, it was his power. Therefore, it wasn't possible that Snape's power exceeded him. Snape, the Half-Blood Prince, definitely had some secrets, and I was extremely interested in what they were. And…say it was me that they had been talking about, who was the person that they connected me to, the one who had disappeared long ago?

The answers were coming no closer, and neither was the library. I suddenly realised that I had come close to Gryffindor Tower again. Maybe tonight just wasn't the night for going to the library. I'd just decided to call it a night and go back to the tower when I felt something slink past my legs with an unmistakatable miaow.

Oh no. The twins had filled me in on the existence of Flich and Mrs Norris, and I knew this was going to be messy. But the tower was so very close, and I thought that I might just make it. So I ran. And bumped straight into Filch.

Filch was absolutely delighted to catch me. I don't know if it was me in particular or his hate for the magical population, but his suggestions as to my punishment made me admire him so much as to want to refer him to my good father. It was a shame, for Lord Voldemort, that Argus Filch was a squib. Fortunately, my Head of House was much saner than him, and let me off with a good lecture, twenty points off, and a detention to be carried out with Filch. Nevertheless, it annoyed me to have been caught, and I vowed to learn a way to conceal myself as soon as I could.

By the time I arrived for detention the next evening, I was already knackered. I'd spent all my free time in the library researching, but had not succeeded in finding a concealment spell. I was well aquainted with libraries, but I'd never used them for research before, and it was biting me in the arse.

Being told by Filch, cackling, to polish all the trophies on display in the Trophy Room, by hand, did not do good things for my mood. But with my wand in his hands and his breath on my back, I could only pick up the disgusting rag and one filthy trophy and start to polish. Never, whether in this life or in the previous, had I done manual labour, and I was extremely resentful as I scrubbed away at the trophies of this year's Quidditch Cup or that year's House Cup. Then I came to one particularly grime-covered trophy so dirty I could decipher no words. I rubbed at it hard, and words gradually revealed themselves.

Awarded to Tom Riddle

For Special Services to the School

June, 1942

I paused, staring at the words. Tom Riddle? Riddle…Seeing my pause, Filch grouched from behind me, and I resumed my polishing mechenically. I'd never heard of anyone with my name before. As far as I knew, it wasn't a wizarding name. Was it just a coincidence that there was somebody who shared my surname who had been at Hogwarts a long time ago? Or was this really, my father? I quickly calculated the date in my head. It seemed about right.

Well. It seemed as though there was still a lot I didn't know about that dear father of mine. I was really quite curious as to what he could have done to warrant a Special Services Award. My father didn't seem like the kind of person to give service to anybody. But it would be just like him to get an award for doing nothing. Perhaps I should look him up in the library. Know thy enemy, right? Well. I didn't know if Lord Voldemort was my enemy per se, but surely knowing some more about him wouldn't hurt. And I could start with this person called Tom Riddle, who may or may not be my father before he became Lord Voldemort.

I spent the following days up to my eyebrows in books in the library, looking through everything and anything to do with Lord Voldemort or Tom Riddle. There was very little at all about Tom Riddle-he was only mentioned once in a tiny article about him being a witness to the investigation of an old witch who had died unexpectedly-but there were enough books on Lord Voldemort for them to have a small shelf to themselves.

It gave me a strange feeling to read about the crimes that he had commited, stories I had once heard straight from my father's mouth. And what troubled me was, though his cruelty still horrified me, the extent of his power was unmistakably alluring. And I…I got this idea-what if I was the one with that amount of power? There was so much that could be done…all I had ever thought unfair about the world…I could make it change, make it right. I could also be a God.

A bell rang suddenly, shattering my ridiculous dreams. I realised instead that lunch break was over, and I was meant to be in Charms, right this minute. I sprinted to Professor Flitwick's classroom at never-before-reached speeds, and gratefully took the seat Fred had saved for me as Flitwick started to lecture.

Fred grinned at me. It wasn't a nice grin. He was certainly up to something.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Lacole, my good friend," he proclaimed in disgustingly fake pompousness, "I have a proposal for you."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Fred was really not to be trusted when he had that sort of expression on his face. I remained on red alert as I cautiously urged him to continue.

"So we heard you got caught?" George piped in from Fred's other side.

"Out after curfew?" Fred added.

"By Filch?" George cackled.

"How'd you like some payback?"

Hm. So it looks like I'm not the victim. I relaxed slightly.

"Yes, payback sounds quite sweet. What do you suggest?"

Fred and George shared an evil look.

"How would you like to come plant dungbombs in Filch's office with us?"

I choked on an intake of breath. It was an inane idea. Absolutely ridiculous. Not to mention too childish for words.

"Yeah, I'm game," I agreed enthusiastically.

Sneaking out of Gryffindor Tower was much more interesting when there were three of us. Each carrying a pocketful of dungbombs, we sneaked towards Filch's office. Despite having been in Hogwarts no longer than me, Fred and George seemed to know all its nooks and crannies to perfection, taking me through dark corridors rather than the wide main stairs. It was in one of these that I suddenly found George had disappeared.

"Huh? Where's George?" I whispered to Fred.

"This way, you dolt!"

A tapestry 2 metres back from where I stood flapped open to reveal George's face for a second. Fred looked to George and back, pointing to the tapestry in front of him.

"Wasn't it this one?"

At that moment, a figure appeared at the far end of the corridor, and I grabbed Fred's arm, pulling him through the tapestry in front of us. George had been right, this tapestry led nowhere, there was only a small hollow behind it, barely big enough for both Fred and me.

I had one arm around his middle and one hand over his mouth, and my face was buried in his shoulder to muffle my own breathing. After a few moments, faint footsteps were heard, and then faded away. I suddenly realised that Fred was shaking, and loosened my hold on him at once, feeling stupid. Fred turned to me, eyes shining in the darkness, and it took me a moment to realise that he was shaking with silent laughter. But then I started giggling too, though I wasn't even sure what we were laughing about.

"God, you're fast," he said finally, wheezing, "and that tickled!"

I stuck out my tongue, and peeked out of the tapestry before stepping out.

"Oh, shut up, you, come on! George is probably thinking we died out here!"

It took a while before we caught up with George, and even longer for us to find Filch's office. Everything seemed very funny, from the shapes of the shadows to the way our steps echoed, and even though I sniped at Fred for being stupid, I couldn't help laughing, and it held us up immensely.

But in the end, we arrived at Filch's empty office, and after checking for Mrs. Norris, we entered. Fred and George quickly started setting up their dungbombs in traps from the door to the desk, and while I couldn't manage that, I settled for putting mine in the most unexpected places so that Filch wouldn't run out too fast. I put one on every shelf and pulled open every drawer to place one.

The last drawer in Filch's desk was locked, but I opened it easily with a spell. Inside was quite a lot of confiscated goods, and I pushed them around to find a good place to hide my last dungbomb. Under the junk, there was an old piece of parchment that seemed quite out of place in that drawer, and it made me pull it out. Holding it in my hands gave me a prickly feeling, and I got curious as to what was wrong with it. Filch was a squib; he'd hardly miss a piece of parchment. So I put my dungbomb in the drawer and locked it again, and put the parchment into my pocket.

I was carefully guided out of Fred and George's formidable army of dungbombs, and we took the same route back to Gryffindor Tower. Back in my dorm, I was too tired to bother with the parchment. It could wait. I needed sleep, and fast.

I slept well that night, and for once the red in my dreams were not the red of blood but the red of flame. As for the parchment, it would be a long time before I cracked the code to its secrets, the same as all the other secrets that I had come to notice within my first days at Hogwarts.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed and gave me plot bunnies! I really appreciate it. I treat my writing seriously, and try my best to keep my characters in character, so I'm always happy when people take the time to give me some constructive critisism. I hope that you like the new chapter!