"'Would I?'….'I had proven, as a very young man, that power was my weakness and my temptation….'"
Albus Dumbledore
Athelinda glided through the corridors, like a queen in her own castle.
She smiled to herself at that idea.
"You shouldn't be out wondering on your own," a voice came behind her.
It was Tom Riddle and he looked somewhat pleased to come across her.
She smirked.
"I'm a prefect and I'm on patrol," she said, twirling her wand out idly. And if the 'monster' comes to me, then it, or anything else, will know to fear me."
"Is that what you want then?" Tom stepped closer to her. "To inspire fear from everyone around you?"
"Only the ones that might wish me harm," she said lazily. "Those that don't- well, why should I?"
"Because then they will revere you," Tom said. She made a derisive noise.
"Fear isn't respect, and that's what everyone really wants." She said. "The ones I respect I will never harm. The ones I really respect deeply, I will listen. Others may follow them," she said with a shrug. "I will lend them support."
"But you won't follow them?" Athelinda's lips curled slightly at his response.
"Am I cattle?" she asked. "To follow a herdsman to be milked for his benefits, herded back to a cowshed and expected to be content with grass and hay? To accept to be slaughtered for meat when the time comes?" she raised an eyebrow. "No one will exploit me," she said. "Those that are smart and strong enough will never be exploited."
"You're a very philosophical person," Tom remarked. He stood straight after leaning against the wall. An odd position for the usually formal and polite Tom Riddle.
"But I suppose you're right," he said. He knew it, and she saw it too. He had come to respect her. For her power, most likely. She was beginning to like this boy.
"But why are you being held back?" he asked, black eyes glinting.
She took a step back. "No one's holding me back," she exclaimed outraged.
Tom sighed. "You do realise you aren't the only one? I saw you duel with your brother. I see you confiscating dangerous items from students, telling them off for going out at night, dragging them to Slughorn or Dippet for sneaking off into the Forbidden Forest. I see you reporting Hagrid's doings to your own brother," he said. "I had first been looking at myself, and then I compared my situation to yours, and I wondered if the job of prefect is really an honour after all."
"Of course it is," she looked alarmed. "It's an honour and a responsibility."
"And a burden," Tom said, coming to stand behind her. "We're still in the school, dealing with the mess teachers can't be bothered to clean up and the reason we're allowed to have some form of power and authority, is just so we can contain the mess and let the teachers relax a bit."
Athelinda couldn't say anything.
"In the meantime, I hear your brother is going to have a splendid time leaving once this year's up, and he's got a career in Volsung's military."
Athelinda stared at him. "Well, yes," she stammered.
"He will probably be a commander soon enough," Tom said. "Knowing him. Jumping ranks by receiving promotions. Receiving rewards and honours. Oh, he'll deserve it. But he gets to live."
What shocked Athelinda was that Tom Riddle sounded… bitter? Envious?
She was shocked into silence.
"You… wish to be like him?" she asked hesitantly.
"I wish to go my own way," he looked at her. "I love it here at Hogwarts. And I hate to leave for the summer holidays. But I'm still a student. Your brother won't be that for long. He'll go on campaign, explore the world- meet people I have never been able to meet. Many of them do, if they're wealthy enough."
It shocked Athelinda. Tom had been so accepted by his fellow students, even by members of the elite pure-blood families who have a great deal of money. They generally looked down on everyone else and envied and sought to gain advantage over those richer than them. How did this boy earn their respect then, if he was not wealthier than they?
For the first time, Athelinda found herself wondering at this boy's background. It was something she would generally rather not do. Partly because it was none of her business, but mostly because she had better things to do. Most of all though, she felt it was far beneath her.
"You'll have plenty of advantages once you've left." She said. "You are one of the best students- that's fact."
Tom's lips twitched. "Maybe. But the ministry tends to prefer the ones who come from wealthy, advantaged backgrounds with a good family name. How many Riddles do you know work for any government?"
She sighed. "Well, then that just has to change." Her eyes took on a steely look.
"But it won't be easy," she said. "I may be one of the elite- an Atlantean as well, but I've never accepted convention. This will be something against me." She gave him a wry smile. "But you had better start doing something yourself, Tom. I very well won't even if I could." She smirked.
"I know what you're trying to do."
"I'm not trying to do anything," he said mildly surprised.
"Yes you are," she said. "I don't have to be a legilimens to find out. I know who you are Tom Riddle, at least to the other members of the school. People flock to you, and they go to your shadow. You tell them to do whatever you want and they will not hesitate.
"You are very prescient," he remarked. "But you misunderstand me."
She sighed.
"You're a difficult one," he remarked. "But do you want me to convince you?"
She smirked further. "How?"
He had a gleam in his eye.
"Hogsmeade," he said easily. They had been given permission to have visits there once more. "Two o'clock, Saturday."
She looked sceptical, but at the same time, there was a glint in her eyes.
She would be there. But she may have found a kindred spirit- although it will take some convincing. She would never be lower than him.
Rhaegar looked haunted.
There were dark circles under his eyes. His skin looked pale. Willamar noticed sitting from the Hufflepuff table.
"Are you alright?" he asked when he walked over to him.
"Fine," Rhaegar said. He was lying.
Willamar sighed. 'Rhaegar…"
"Don't 'Rhaegar' me," he snapped. Willamar frowned. "You had a bad dream, didn't you," Rhaegar closed his eyes, a flush creeping up his face.
"It was nothing," he said with a stone edge.
"It was not nothing," Willamar said softly. "You know it never is."
Rhaegar looked down. He wasn't fooling him.
"Was it the time they whipped you?" Willamar asked even more softly after a while. "Or the time they used the cruciatus curse on you?"
Rhaegar looked up at him and gave him a bitter smile. "The time they turned me into a monster," he said simply.
In other words, the time they made him kill an innocent for the first time.
Willamar didn't say anything for a while.
"It wasn't your fault," he said quietly.
Rhaegar didn't say anything.
"Dumbledore told me," he said slowly after a while. "That I would be suited for leadership. He's wrong."
"You're not a monster, you aren't even the same person they brutalized," Willamar said, sitting down beside him.
"Aren't I?" Rhaegar asked. "What if I become one? With power at my disposal…" he shook his head. "It's not worth the risk."
Willamar was silent. He couldn't dispute that.
"It's your choice," was all he said, before he rose and turned to walk back to the Hufflepuff table.
Rhaegar watched him go.
Dumbledore was wrong. What happened to him years ago changed who he was and who he should have been. No one could trust him.
Not even himself.
Looking, without even seeing, inside his goblet, Rhaegar swirled its contents. Pumpkin juice. But it wasn't juice he saw.
The juice darkened from orange to red. He saw a reflection of someone inside the liquid- not a seventeen, almost eighteen year-old student, ready to leave school and enter the academy as a soldier.
But a boy.
A boy with blue eyes and black hair, swirling around in matted clumps around his white face. One eye was badly swollen and bruised, and there was blood splashed on his face in crimson streaks.
Rhaegar looked up. Instead of the Great Hall, instead of the House tables, with students chatting, sitting at breakfast with more students walking in, he saw something else:
A burning settlement; shacks, bungalows, cottages and lodges, many of them made of wood, ripped out and torn with the pieces lying on the muddy ground.
There were puddles, some were water, others blood. Some were a mixture of both.
Rhaegar looked up and stood from where he'd been crouching. A body lay in front of him: a young man. He was strong, healthy, in his twenties. His blond hair lay strewn, caked with water, mud and blood. His face was blank and his green eyes looked sightlessly at the sky. His blood stained Rhaegar's front.
Rhaegar calmly walked past the man's decapitated corpse, wand in one hand, sword swinging lifelessly in another. He feared no opponent- nor survivor seeking vengeance, no fighter ready to save anyone else from dying.
The fires burned. They had ordered them lit. Rhaegar picked up a burning log and tossed it onto the nearest house-a small lodge. He lit his wand's tip with flames and threw it onto another lodge that stood too intact for his liking.
Two of his comrades held a woman down. She was screaming, dress soaked in blood. Their snarls only terrified her. Her blue dress was ripped and torn, and so were the skin on her legs. The mud would infect her.
Rhaegar walked over to her, emotionlessly. He lit his wand again. He threw the flames onto the woman.
The woman screamed as the fire caught her dress. She screamed as the flames, fuelled by the magic of the caster, rose higher and gained power. She screamed as it engulfed her, like the witches of old.
Rhaegar looked into her eyes- agony and terror within them. And for the first time, he felt something.
Horror and revulsion. And it stunned him because before then, he had always been so calm.
"Rhaegar- Rhaegar!" Rhaegar looked up startled from his goblet.
The Head Girl, Marguerite, looked at him in concern.
"Are you alright?" it took more than a second for him to recover his wits.
"Fine," he lied. "What's wrong?"
She frowned. "Nothing's wrong. I was just reminding you of our newly assigned duties before we escort the students to Hogsmeade." Her brow furrowed in concern.
Rhaegar looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, I was distracted. I have a bit on my mind lately."
"We all have," she smiled in understanding. Rhaegar looked away. He didn't deserve it.
Didn't deserve any of this.
"Well, I asked Professor Dumbledore and he said that we should wait at the entrance and escort the students to the train," she looked sceptical. "Then we are to escort them back to the castle and to their common rooms."
"I think they brought back the Hogsmeade visits to get the children out of the castle," Rhaegar said dryly. "Not to mention, to take our minds off everything."
"Yes," she responded. "Well, if it works." Marguerite nodded to him and walked away.
Rhaegar watched her go. She didn't deserve this.
He felt repulsed for every one of them, knowing they have to sit and interact with a monster.
With him.
Rhaegar felt the winds swirling around him and struggled not to scowl.
He had been looking forwards to this- but the weather was abominable.
Arriving at the Hog's Head, he stamped his feet to get rid of the snow and the cold that still clung. Shaking his head he looked up.
Willamar was there. A few of his friends- Rhaegar was glad to see them.
Sitting down with them, tankards of butterbeer were presented soon after, steaming-hot. The foam on its surface looker heavenly. He drank deeply.
"Anyone seen Athelinda?" One of them- Marcus- asked. He frowned. "I asked her to meet with me on Tuesday, she said she would. I haven't seen her since."
Rhaegar frowned. "What?"
"Is she sick?" he asked.
Rhaegar blinked. "Not that I know of."
He exchanged a look with Willamar.
Marcus frowned. "Well, if you see her, please let her know."
Willamar looked uneasy. Athelinda had an excellent memory. And he was certain he saw her on the way to Hogsmeade.
After the Three Broomsticks, the boys decided to go to yet another pub- just for fun. Rhaegar wondered if he had a death wish, in order to drown himself and forget what he tried to forget.
If only they made it.
But he saw her.
She was walking down a familiar path, to the Shrieking Shack.
And unusually- she wasn't alone.
Tom Riddle walked next to her.
"Was this what you wanted to show me?" she asked. She had seen this many times.
He smirked. "No, I want you to see it. See it for what it truly is."
"An old run-down shack filled with rumours of malevolent ghosts," she said bluntly.
He laughed. "No, a window of possibilities."
"Possibilities for pranks, and a hideout for mischief?" her eyes twinkled.
He grinned. "Merely a place for secrets."
He held out his hand. She hesitated, warring with herself. But if Tom Riddle was rash, impulsive and incapable of even taking care of herself, her mother was a fire-crab. She smiled wonderingly and took it.
Together they walked down the slope.
The snow crunched beneath Athelinda's shoes. Her cloak swirled comfortingly around her, its collar was ermine, and it was black with silver embroidery. Her snow-shoes were as stylish and elegant as they were durable, and her gloves were dragon-skin trimmed with down. She was not by nature, a showy person, but she was elegant. And she could easily afford her clothes which were the most expensive and of the highest quality.
She looked at Tom.
He on the other hand, was not shabby, nor did he wear anything with patches, frays and worn threads, but impeccable as he looked, as immaculate as his black hair, gleaming in the winter sun was, she realised he was wearing second-hand clothing for the very first time. No one else would have been able to see it, but the clothes seemed more preserved than anything. He kept them clean and looking fresh and they were nicely kept, but the black of his cloak was not as rich and deeply vibrant as hers, nor was it as expensive in material.
Who was this boy?
Who was he to command such respect from his fellow students, many of whom came from elitist wealthy families, to worship him?
It confused her more than anything. What bewildered her even more was that she was no longer jealous.
No, she saved that for Rhaegar.
She refused to think about that.
Tom Riddle stopped when they came up to the house.
He took held her hand still and went round, to the back of the house. The house itself was made of torn, chipped pieces of wood, with paint peeled off, save for a few flakes. There were countless holes and the pieces of wood were hanging off. There windows and doors were boarded up.
"No violent spirits?" she asked. "The Bloody Baron told me that not even they dare go near this place. Not even Peeves."
He smirked.
"That is nothing but a rumour," he said mildly. "Although it does serve to our advantage."
"The shrieks-" Athelinda began.
"Are caused by magic, by wind and by other natural phenomena." Tom said smoothly. Not bothering to explain. He drew his wand.
Muttering the incantation, several wood boards came off. Dropping to the floor with a small thunk, it revealed a gaping black hole, big enough to go through if they bent slightly down. Still holding her hand, Tom went in first, followed by Athelinda, who tried not to do something as ludicrous and undignified as tripping.
He smiled.
When they straightened, Athelinda saw that the house looked, just as she always assumed it did. Only there were no ghosts- no sign of any sentient creature, living or dead. Nothing amortal such as a poltergeist or a Dementor either. She frowned. It was shabby, dark, slightly unnerving- not to mention dirty and dust-ridden- but silent and empty save for the two students.
"What have you been doing here Tom?" she asked him, suspiciously.
Tom smiled.
"This way. And don't worry, I've cast a charm on the stairs so we don't fall."
He took her all the way up the stairs. Apparently true to his word, they did not fall, even though the stairs certainly creaked.
Athelinda could not help but feel excitement.
"Here we are," Tom said, holding his wand aloft. He lit it with a murmur of "lumos."
Athelinda looked around. She blinked. The place was dark, so she too, had had to light her wand. It was a dusty as the rest of the house. It also had soot-stains from a fire-place, long out of use. There was a four-poster bed, falling to bits, the mattress, comforter and the sheets moth-eaten along with the curtains. She suspected only fleas slept there now. The sofa too, was moth-eaten, and the coffee-table looked ready to fall, and was covered in soot as well. Probably the ashes blown from the fireplace.
"Strange," she murmured. "I don't see anything unusual."
Tom smirked. He waved his wand in a circular motion, the dust motes scattering as something began to shimmer right in front of them.
She froze as several shelves, bookcases, unique artefacts and vials of liquid came into view. She gasped- she couldn't help it. She came forwards.
There was a jewelled necklace and a matching bracelet. There were books with intriguing titles that promised magical secrets. There were silver teapots, cream jugs, sugar bowls and teacups and matching spoons, all ornately carved with beautiful symbols which promised… something. Her eyes widened as she regarded the instruments: there was something that looked like silver ladles set in a stem of the same metal, in a stand filled with water. A neat feather quill with a curling end and a very sharp tip, in black, which she suspected was enchanted somewhat, maybe even cursed. But the most fantastic of all was also the most repulsive. It was a severed hand, rotting and slimy-grey, its muscles eaten away and its veins and arteries bulging and resembling earthworms and maggots more than anything, eating away at the grey. Its fingernails had turned black and it was thin as it its juices had been drained from it, and it probably was.
"A Hand of Glory," Tom spoke softly. He was eying Athelinda, without her knowing this whole time, with a gleam in his eyes, similar to greed and a desire for… something. "It gives light only to the holder if they should put a candle in it to hold.
"Magnificent," Athelinda breathed, not caring if any inferior person were to think that she was insane for liking such a thing. It wasn't pretty, but it had unusual power. Like her.
"There's something else," Tom said. He went to a shelf and took out a box. He laid it out in front of her. She went over to him, looking eagerly at the box.
He opened the lid. There appeared to be wriggling coiled mass of… something.
They were snakes, or rather, one snake. A three-headed one. It was a runespoor, six and half feet long by the looks of it and striped in orange and black like a tiger. Its three heads looked up sleepily. The clever left head looked suspicious, but Tom gave a soothing hiss.
Athelinda looked up startled. "You're a parselmouth!" Tom smiled at her. It was a genuine smile, nothing like what she gave to the professors and the caretaker. Nothing what she assumed he gave either. But there was something in his dark eyes that made her feel even less suspicious.
"Hold out your hand." Tom instructed softly. She hesitated. These were rare. She had never interacted with runespoors before. In fact she wasn't even sure if it was legal to bring them out of Africa. But she held out her hand. Tom took it. It was warm, she thought with mild surprise. He smiled and guided her hand to the box.
She flinched inwardly- snakes didn't like jerking movements, so she knew better. But the runespoor raised its three heads. Tom gave several hisses. She knew what he said.
"She is a friend," he said. "And a speaker. She will never harm you." He smiled again, looking back up at Athelinda. "I trust her."
Stunned by that statement, she allowed her hand to relax, in time for the middle head to raise itself along with the left and nuzzle her gently. The right looked suspicious, but grudgingly did the same.
She smiled, and laughed softly. The snake kept nuzzling her with its three heads. She glorified in the liquid feel of its scales. Tom's hand- which still held hers- was stroked and rubbed too.
The two smiled and chuckled softly, allowing the runespoor to enjoy their attentions, stroking and rubbing it.
"It must be kept quiet," Tom said softly. "If anyone were to find it they would deem us dark wizards and we would likely be thrown to Azkaban."
Athelinda was silent. People viewed parselmouths as dark wizards, due to the connection with Herpo the Foul. It was a prejudice as much as the prejudice against Muggle-borns. But they would never be given a fair trial, if anyone knew of their secret, which was why her mother warned her to keep quiet about her infancy and birth. She should have felt remorse about not heeding her warnings, but she didn't care. The world was blind and full of fools.
She stroked the heads absently. She and Tom smiled at each other.
Athelinda spent some time discussing with Tom about the artefacts in the room, the books and so forth. They were full of unusual magic, not necessarily dark, but viewed with suspicion.
"I feel sorry for it," she said softly, referring to the runespoor. "We're three of a kind. People don't understand us, so they fear us. They hate us. For all wizards say about Muggles-" she spat out the word "- they are themselves blinded and fools. They fear those with great power, and if they do not envy, then they fear to seek it." She looked disgusted.
"Yes," Tom said softly. He looked at her.
"You hate dark magic though," he said conversationally.
"Who doesn't?" she asked. "I'd sooner kiss a dragon, than consort with monsters who are willing to twist themselves and use me for their own gain. I'm a Volsunga. We haven't forgotten."
Tom regarded her silently. "Then no one will use you," he said. There was respect in his voice. "No one is that mad. And no one will be. I wouldn't let them. And neither would you."
"Yes," she nodded in satisfaction.
But it was then she started to feel strangely with his black eyes on hers.
"We should get back," There was a note of regret in his voice. He stood up. "They will have to take us back to Hogwarts."
"Yes," she said. She also stood. "Will it be alright?" she asked looking worriedly at the box in Tom's hands.
He shrugged. "It has enough food and more than enough water. And it's told me it's comfortable. I've placed a heating charm. It's used to the African climate."
She smiled and nodded. Tom led the way out.
They were once again in the cold. He lifted his wand muttered an incantation and the boards lifted and sealed themselves back to where they were before.
Together they climbed the slope, shoes and boots leaving a pattern in the deep white snow.
"Here," Tom extended his hand. He helped her up. Together they walked to where the other students were waiting.
Later in the castle, he gently grabbed her shoulder before she turned and left.
"Good night," he said quietly. She gave a smile.
He looked regretful as she walked away, back to the direction of their common room. Unaware not twenty inches away he was watched by Rhaegar.
Rhaegar saw that look and smouldered in hate, before turning and striding away, the blood rising inside of him.
Furiously, Rhaegar stormed all the way to Gryffindor Tower. He was flushed with rage.
How dare he?
How dare Tom Riddle?
He barked the password to the Fat Lady, who seemed taken aback by his unusual rudeness and marched all the way to the boy's dormitory and his personal bedroom adjacent to it.
Flushing with rage, he sealed the door, and threw a chest full of his homework against the wall.
He had an urge to kill Tom Riddle, like he did to all the rest of them.
Athelinda started being seen more and more with Tom Riddle. They did not behave inappropriately, but Rhaegar suspected enough.
His blood burned as he regarded the two of them standing with Tom Riddle one evening after lessons were finished.
He had to remind himself not to kill.
He had turned from that path a long time ago.
Just then a student ran into the Great Hall, just before dinner was being served. It was the Head Girl, Marguerite.
"What?" he asked, looking rather bewildered.
"Another student has been attacked." She said grimly. "Whatever is attacking them, they're still being dealt with."
Cursing, Rhaegar looked at Gryffindor House. Then he looked at the other houses. We should summon a prefect's meeting," he said grimly.
"Tell the others you can find." His brother and sister, prefects for their respective houses were two of them. The others, including Tom Riddle would have to listen.
He made a face that spoke of disgust. They would just have to put aside their differences, for now.
Rhaegar didn't have much time left.
He knew that he would have to be initiated and recognised as an adult by the Volsunga leaders before he turned eighteen.
But he wasn't going to leave Hogwarts in danger.
"As you know there have been attacks," Marguerite said slowly.
Rhaegar grunted. His mood was bad enough.
"Well they are becoming more and more concerning." Marguerite continued.
"The ministry is enquiring and soon they will send representatives, aurors, beast-handlers and so forth. They'll be searching this whole castle up and down, so be prepared to let them into the common rooms and dormitories."
"The common rooms?" asked Tom Riddle. "And the dormitories?" he looked displeased.
Rhaegar was about to snap at him. He barely had any patience. He bit his tongue.
"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "Every one of them."
"They think the monster is hiding beneath someone's bedsheets?" asked the Ravenclaw prefect, Mathew Summers.
Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "Well what did you expect? They're searching for clues as well."
"For what?" he heard his sister spit. She looked ready to mutilate and murder.
"For them to come into our common rooms and dormitories, invading students' privacies, ready to find out whoever's behind this?" she looked enraged, more enraged than Rhaegar had ever seen her. He was troubled.
"Athelinda," he began.
"Why? Because they naturally assume we're the culprits?" Athelinda hissed. "Because of some disgusting myth?"
"Athelinda," Rhaegar said sharply.
"So naturally we're the guilty ones," she went on. "All of us. So the ministry morons just won't let it go?"
"Athelinda," he was now raising his voice.
She wasn't going to let him have any influence over her anymore.
No matter what her tone, even if it was inappropriate.
"We don't like it either," said Marguerite, before the two siblings could come to blows. Willamar looked alarmed and troubled.
"But we have no choice." She finished.
"Need I remind you Athelinda, that these are ministry officials, and we are required to give them respect?" Rhaegr asked his tone still rising.
"Typical of my brother following everyone's rules." Athelinda snarled before spinning on her heel, without seeking anyone's approval, and striding out.
They stared at the closed door.
Rhaegar was shocked and embarrassed. Willamar too. She had never been like this. Athelinda knew when to give respect. But apparently.
Rhaegar closed his eyes. He needed to perform this one humiliation.
"Please forgive my sister," he said. "We have a lot going on in our family at the moment, and here as well. This is not an easy time."
Marguerite sighed. "I see. Well, then, we had better give the notices along with our heads of house."
The meeting was adjourned.
Scowling, Rhaegar stood by Dumbledore as he gave the announcement. The outrage the students felt would not sway the ministry. They were treading on ice. Any one of them could be the suspect. It might not be Slytherin's monster, but someone who supported Grindelwald.
Therefore in times of trouble action was needed.
Dumbledore lacked his usual cheer. There was something troubling him.
Rhaegar read his father' letter. The one the owl just delivered. It was not looking good at all.
He had gone back to the front. And the losses were heavier than they expected. Furthermore some of the other Atlantean clans were determined to let the Volsunga win- or lose- this war by themselves. Some had withdrawn. Others had stayed neutral for the whole duration of the war.
They were losing.
And there wasn't enough time.
Rhaegar would also leave for his recognition ceremony in a few months time- providing that his father was still alive.
He leaned back against a wall and slumped once the students were all in bed.
What could he do?
What could anyone do against such evil?
Athelinda scowled as she walked the corridors. She saw something that halted her tracks.
A little girl, only eleven, taunted and tormented by a group of older students.
She wasn't the only one. Apparently, there were two more girls of roughly the same age, all of whom were in Slytherin House, except for the tormentor themselves. They looked like they came from… Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?
Rage burned even brighter within her when she looked upon the scene.
"What are you going to do?" one of the older students taunted. "Call upon your fanged servant to come get us? Call 'im in and see what 'e can do 'n' help you. Maybe a bite? A li'le hiss? From 'im or jus' you?" he sneered.
The other bullies started roaring with laughter.
They doubled over.
"Maybe," the first bully grinned. "You could-" but he never made the suggestion because Athelinda drew her wand and cast a Shield-charm that came between the bullies and their victims.
Snarling, she came upon them, and the expression on her face must have been ferocious, because they paled and would have fled, but she cast another Shield-charm that blocked their escape. Unfortunately she wasn't allowed to cast the Cruciatus curse or even bind them with ropes.
"Your names," she hissed.
They paled further.
"You will regret this," she vowed, slowly and dangerously. Her black eyes, glinted, and looked like the abyss. "I promise you will."
In the shadows Tom Riddle watched without her knowing.
And none of them doubted it.
She marched away, and found her brother and the Gryffindors' female prefect, as well as the other prefects and the Head Girl, minus Tom Riddle.
Angrily she informed the shocked and appalled prefects and her brother and his female counterpart about what she had seen and stopped.
They flushed in shame and the blood inside her burned to an almost unbearable temperature.
Rhaegar flushed deeply. "Athelinda-" "Don't!" she snarled dangerously. She spun on her heel and glided swiftly away.
It appeared that family ties were nothing compared to house ties and the cloud of dark discontent that hung over the world.
Could anyone blame her for wanting power?
Nor for deciding to do anything to gain it?
April 29 1943…
Andreas scowled.
He read the letter.
And then he scrunched it into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace, drinking deeply from his goblet.
He sank onto the low sofa and sighed.
His wife came in.
"You've had another letter," she remarked. "What did it say?"
He scowled again. "The usual."
"Athelinda?" she asked hastily. "The boys? Any more attacks?"
He gave her a tired look. She knew what it meant.
But surely they made the right decision in sending the children to Hogwarts?
Between the happenings in Hogwarts, and the war with Grindelwald… She had been a teacher a Durmstrang before she married him. Born in Russia, she had been Atlantean by descent and was an unbelievably gifted witch- talented and smart enough to teach their children before they even began school.
She agreed to send their children to Hogwarts. She had, after all, resigned in protest after the Durmstrang board of governors refused to acknowledge that they had a problem: an increasing number of students being fascinated by the dark arts, lax actions taken to preventing such a thing and lack of a tighter disciplinary system over the practice of such magic. The school refused to take her seriously, saying that Grindelwald had long been expelled before she even came to work as a teacher. It was up to the students who had lost family members to Grindelwald to put them in their place.
She was only thankful there were that many students who knew sense- although they achieved it through rather sad and terrible ways.
So she agreed that they would be better off if they were taught at Hogwarts. A better environment for any kind of learning, she decided. But it seemed that Hogwarts had problems of its own.
So what was there to do?
Rhaegar had written that it was all based on a myth with little plausibility and even less evidence to support its bizarre theory.
Further, he had written about his sister.
Athelinda was growing… distant with them, and furious. Her rages were beginning to show. She had always had a hot temper- unless she was icy-cold- but until now she had managed to conceal it. She never did anything that attracted the teachers' attention, but the other students could sense it- they were growing frightened of her- if not terrified.
She was always proud- a little too proud for her own good- but now it was more than mere haughtiness. She had begun making snide remarks, insulting comments and degrading words at fellow students, making them feel awful, especially those who were never very bright and struggled with school to begin with. These increased even when the students actually found it too hard to bear. The teachers were turning a blind eye- students of all ages, all levels of intelligence and talent, male or female bore the brunt of her sneering, sarcastic, sardonic, or sometimes downright blunt- although she was usually more subtle than that- comments. It wasn't uncommon to hear students crying in the toilets.
Rhaegar had spoken to Athelinda about such things and so did Willamar. All they got, was a shouting match- with a silencing charm at the doors and windows of the empty classroom- and Athelinda giving them the same treatment except on a larger scale.
It particularly hurt.
Especially because they could almost believe she hated them.
Andreas had considered sending her a howler, but he would never humiliate her in front of everyone, and furthermore, damage the relationship with her brothers, which was becoming particularly strained.
Neither did he want to turn her against her parents. Call him cowardly in this sense, but he would rather not have his own daughter hate him. He loved her.
And she was going through a rough time with all the rumours and stories going around.
She was discontent, he had always felt that.
And she hated the world and wanted to change it.
But Athelinda was young, and as brilliant and clever as she was- far from foolish- she was young and judged too quickly without even finding out the whole facts for herself. She wanted the power to change the world to her own views and ideals, but she had never bothered, or managed to see life through another person's eyes, whether it was an ordinary Muggle, a young student, or anyone in power.
Yes, there was corruption, yes there were betrayals, murders, dark magic and so forth, but there was also good in this world, and things worth preserving. And in the heat of her discontent and her youthful misunderstanding, Athelinda had blinded herself to these things. For all the blindness she claimed she saw in others…
Andreas took a gulp of firewhisky. He was temporarily back because he was placed on a covert mission.
To convince Dumbledore to join the fight.
But neither he nor Rhaegar and Willamar would ever leave Hogwarts in such a state unless they knew for sure that Grindelwald was behind the attacks in school.
And that had to be solved first.
"What shall we do?" he asked. "About Dumbledore?"
His wife regarded him in silence.
"What can we do?" she asked.
"He was Grindelwald's friend," Andres sighed. "Surely he would know his weaknesses."
"He may not be like Grindelwald," his wife sat down beside him. "But that does not mean that it is still easy to confront his former friend. It must still hurt, he can only remember all too well what his betrayal must have been like."
"And we cannot tell the children about their friendship," Andreas put in. "Especially not Athelinda. She does not need to lack faith in anyone else when she is already…" he could not find the words.
His wife sighed. "What can we do about her?" she worried.
"Can we even do anything that won't make it worse?" he asked.
"I read that she's started to harass the other students. Except in Slytherin House alone."
He grimaced and shook his head. "She's hard even on the Slytherins," he said bluntly. "They're not good enough for her."
"Is anything ever good enough for Athelinda?" Katerina sighed again.
"She's ambitious- for herself and for the world. And I'm starting to think she's mixing them up together. To think what she thinks is best for the world, is best for her."
"Ambition is dangerous as it is healthy," she remarked. She took the offered glass of wine her husband handed to her.
"If only Athelinda can know these things," Andreas said regretfully. "But I don't think she will want to hear the truth.
"That's not all," Andreas continued. "I hear she's developing a relationship with another student."
Katerina stared at him. "What?" she asked bewildered.
"The other Slytherin prefect," he said. "Tom Riddle."
She stared at him still. "Is it a good relationship?" Andreas shrugged.
"Rhaegar hates him." He said. "He claims that she started seeing him the time she turned all… well." He gulped his second glass of firewhisky down. "But this may be due to the over-protective nature he has, especially when it concerns boys and his sisters."
Katerina frowned. "I don't see you reacting in an extreme way."
"That's because I read the letter first," he remarked cheekily. "And I had time to pull myself together.
She scoffed.
"Well, this may or may not be a bad relationship," she said. "Only time can tell. And as far as I can tell, it's not life-threatening." He responded.
If only they knew.
Athelinda had been seeing Tom Riddle for some time now, as 'friends'. Rhaegar scowled watching them go about in Hogsmeade. He would have followed them if Willamar did not stop him.
Willamar shook his head. "You'll only make it worse."
He was right. Athelinda was no fool. And her mood swings were alarming. She was utterly unpredictable- she could be raging fiendfyre and hurtful insults or icy cold, or genuinely kind and happy like he remembered her. No one knew what to think.
A number of people were starting to stay clear.
Others were like flocks of pixies and crowded around her in admiration, of all things.
Since when did she even like the crowd or even tolerated them? Maybe she was snobbish and disdainful and preferred to stay alone, but even though she looked down upon them then, she certainly looked down upon them still, despite the acts of kindness and generosity she bestowed upon them in her unpredictable whims. But whether they liked her, or not it had never mattered to them before. Now she still looked upon them like animals- sometimes tolerable and worthy and needing of generosity and kindness. Other times, they were intolerable and made a mess of everything.
But she now lived on their praise.
He made a point of telling his friends and brother of what had happened.
"Well," one boy, James Callaghan stated. "She is becoming a pain. Why not try to talk to her in a calm and reasonable environment?"
The two brothers stared at him. In the Three Broomsticks, the noise was such, no one could over-hear them.
"You didn't think we didn't try that?" Willamar raised an eyebrow. He sighed.
"Philomena's turning eleven soon enough," he said. "She's going to Hogwarts, in the meantime, there's something attacking everyone, there's a war our father's fighting- he's'-" he motioned to Rhaegar "-going to be leaving to fight before she even comes, and Athelinda's acting…" he grimaced. "I'm not even going to say it."
"Well, at least you can say, you're going to be here," Luke Woodsom pointed.
He mumbled something incomprehensible and downed his butterbeer.
"I am tempted," Rhaegar said, "To hex her to her right senses. For all she talks about the world being blind…" he shook his head.
"She's blinded by ambition- for herself and for the world she wants."
"What about Tom Riddle," Alphard Black said.
"What about him?" James Callaghan asked.
Alphard shrugged.
"Well, he may or may not be the cause of this. But the two of them have been looking awfully cosy with each other, haven't they?"
Rhaegar growled. It sounded suspiciously like an Old Atlantean insult or a curse. Willamar sighed.
"If we try and interfere- and I pointed this out to Rhaegar- we might make things worse and push her away even further." He groaned.
"Philomena's coming this September," Rhaegar said menacingly. "I will not have either of them influencing her in any way!"
"Calm down," his brother warned. "Let's just hope she won't have to put up with either of them, even if it means she'll get sorted into a different house. But you are right. I'll spend more than enough time with her and keep her away- even if she isn't at my house."
"Why can't they make you the Head Boy when I'm gone?" Rhaegar said brusquely. "Or someone else. Then he won't have any control over anyone else then what he already has."
Mathew Fields sighed. "He's seeing your sister, possibly in a romantic context and you've already decided you hate him? You two barely even speak."
Willamar glanced at his brother. "He's right you know." Rhaegar shrugged.
"I just have a very bad feeling about this. She's been discontent and arrogant her whole life, but it only got so bad this school year. And it got especially worse after I saw her with Tom Riddle the first time in Hogsmeade."
He gulped his butterbeer. But even the wonderful taste did not soothe him.
"You know," Alphard Black said slyly. "Why don't you start seeing someone, just so she could react?"
Rhaegar reddened, and everyone on the table laughed, but Willamar's dark eyes looked rather sad and he sounded strained.
"Who would you suggest?" Rhaegar scoffed. "I've known everyone in the whole school, and I've never felt any sort of attraction for anyone. I look out for them. But not in that sense."
"Your big brother instincts," Willamar snorted. "It's taking its toll. You're going to have a hard time finding a wife if you keep this up."
The group guffawed with laughter.
"That's a good one," Luke Woodsom sniggered. "Rhaegar, have you met my sister?"
They roared with laughter as to why Luke would want to introduce his sister to Rhaegar.
And the tension eased- if only for a while.
But things didn't get any better.
As a matter of fact, they got worse.