Another chapter, in celebration of Fate/Zero the anime.
Caster is a super freak.
Gilles: Cthulu Fhtagan
Kyugan: Wha? GAH!
Chapter 11: The Very Secret Diary.
Several weeks later and the spring term began anew, the students returning warily to their normal routines, meaning Herwald had to get used to being gawked ant and whispered about every time he stepped out into the corridors. Thankfully, he rarely travelled alone, as every day, after lessons, the group would get together to work on their homework and try to figure out just what the hell was attacking the students.
"Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you've ever met, or what?" Ron asked out loud one session ignoring Hermione's annoyed look as he scowled in disgust "Honestly, does he EVER shut up about winning that smile award?"
Herwald snorted, ignoring the predictable argument that followed between the youngest Weasley Brother and Hermione in favour of helping Neville and Goyle comprehend Snape's assignment, while Draco tutored Crabbe. He was just going over exactly WHY you had to add the correct number of rat tails to a Hair Raising Potion when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears.
"That's Filch…" Ron muttered, argument with Hermione forgotten as they glanced up at the ceiling tensely "You don't think someone else's been attacked?"
Herwald didn't bother to reply, he merely leapt to his feet, the others following suit, tracking Filch's echo up the stairs, only to pull up short as they watched him shaking his fists at the door to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
"Even more work for me!" the caretaker snarled, a touch hysterically "Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore…!"
Herwald motioned for them to fall back, listening carefully with reinforced ears as the man's footsteps receded down the out-of-sight corridor, waiting for the sound of a door slamming in the distance before motioning for the others to break from cover.
They saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about, a great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the students grimacing as they finally heard the ghost's wails echoing off the bathroom walls now that Filch was gone. "Now what's up with her?" said Ron muttered, the redhead eyeing the clinically depressed ghost's haunt with a look of disdain "Don't tell me she tried suicide again…"
"The baron doesn't approve of her at ALL." Draco admitted with a grunt, as if that explained all you needed to know about the ghost "Says she's an embarrassment, but because she died on Hogwarts soil, she has every right to be here."
"We should still see what's wrong." Hermione insisted, stepping forwards with her robes held gingerly in her hands, the rest of the boys hesitating until Herwald followed her, the group ignoring the OUT OF ORDER sign and entering the bathroom.
Inside was a mess, the cables having been extinguished by the wave of water that had wash flooded the bathroom, the group proceeding awkwardly inwards until they located Myrtle, the ghost crying at the top of her lungs, or whatever it was Ghosts used, in her usual toilet. "Who's that?" she glugged miserably, glaring up at them disdainfully from the bowl "Come to throw something else at me?"
"It's only us, Frau Myrtle." Herwald assured the deceased girl, quirking a brow at her words as he leant in for a better look "Did someone throw something at you? Is that why you're upset?"
"Well of course I am!" Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. "Who WOULDN'T be upset? Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me…!"
"But it can't hurt you if someone throws something at you." Ron countered before anyone could think to stop him "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't it?"
Draco palmed his face in exasperation, a sentiment that Herwald could relate to, as Ron once again displayed the patented Weasley 'Foot-In-Mouth' technique, his poor choice of words causing Myrtle to puff up in fury. "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she can't feel it!" The ghost shrieked mockingly, glaring at them all the while "Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"
"You're quite correct, Frau Myrtle." Herwald assured her soothingly, even as Draco slapped a hand over Ron's mouth to keep the redhead from digging himself a deeper hole "My friend meant no disrespect. You didn't happen to SEE who threw the book at you?
"I didn't…" Myrtle muttered, looking calmer, though still angry "I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head." She glared over the boy's shoulder "It's over there, it got washed out…"
Herwald turned, following Myrtle's extended finger to peer under the sink, where a small, thin book lay. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom, the Einzbern thanking the ghost for her help, leaving her to her moaning as he advanced on the soggy stationary.
"Easy mate…" Ron called out sharply, the youngest of the Weasley brothers swatting aside Draco's palm with a look of mild annoyance, even as he gripped Herwald's shoulder "It could be dangerous."
"Oh come of it Weasley…" Draco muttered, the scion of hous Malfoy looking honestly amused at the redhead's paranoia "It's hardly a cursed book if someone tried to get rid of it by flushing it down the toilet."
"You'd be surprised." Ron muttered, the redhead eying the book apprehensively "Dad told me about some of the books the Ministry's confiscated…there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch inBathhad a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And…"
"It's a pocket Diary." Herwald muttered, snapping the boy out of his rant reluctantly, as it was a good look into just what Arthur Weasley's department did, pointing to the back cover as he spoke "A simple, MUNDANE Pocket Diary by the looks of it, like something you'd buy at a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London. Whoever owned this was a Muggle-born."
"Any names?" Draco asked, quirking a brow at his friend, as he hadn't noticed Herwald move, Ron blinking numbly at his the Einzbern for ignoring his warnings, even as Herwald flipped through the book with a frown.
"Says here this belongs to a T.M Riddle…" he muttered, turning the sodden pages warily with delicate fingers to avoid ripping one, his emerald eyes narrowing analytically "He doesn't appear to have written in it."
"I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away then?" Neville wondered curiously, the Round-faced heir of Longbottom looking VERY confused, along with Crabbe and Goyle "I mean…if he never wrote in it…"
"Maybe they DID write in it." Hermione countered, her eyes lighting up as she took the book from Herwald excitedly "Think about it, why would he flush an empty diary? He could have placed a spell on it to hide the contents."
"He did, it's a damn good one." Herwald pointed out, though he had to admit it he'd been thinking the same thing himself "I had the thing in my hand remember? I analysed it with Alchemy and found it literally BRIMMING with Prana."
"Which means there's SOMETHING written in there he didn't want anyone to see." Draco noted, the Malfoy heir looking impressed despite himself "Pretty resourceful for a Muggle-born, wonder what he wrote down?"
"Could be anything." Ron pointed out dismissively, "It's a diary remember? Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid." He scowled at the U-bend "Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would've done everyone a favour…"
"Would you shut it!" Draco hissed, slapping the redhead upside the head, though it seemed Myrtle was too absorbed in her death to care at the moment, the group filtering out of the toilet and back to the library, relieving Crabbe and Goyle from guard duty, the two having stayed behind to mind their bags, Hermione quickly pulling out her wand once they were all seated, tapping the diary with it three times.
"Aparecium!" she cast, staring at the blank pages as the spell for revealing letters written in invisible ink failed, the Gryffindor Girl reaching into her bag and pulling out what appeared to be a bright red eraser. "It's a revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley." She explained, rubbing the eraser HARD over the sodden pages of January first, to no visible effect.
Later...
In the end, the group had to leave the library, as Madam Pince was locking up for the evening, Herwald reclaiming the Diary from Hermione, citing that, since he found it, he should be the one to look into it, the Einzbern stating he wanted run a few tests of his own in private, unable to understand why he was so interested in the little black book which someone had tried to flush down the toilet.
The fact, he noted as he lay on his bed that evening, was that he KNEW that the book was hiding something. Even though it was empty, there was nonetheless something hidden amongst the pages that was driving him to keep absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it were a story he wanted to finish, a story about a boy, or girl he admitted, with the initials T. M. Riddle.
It was strange, but for some reason, those letters MEANT something to him, almost as though Riddle was a friend he'd had when he was very small, and had half-forgotten. But that was absurd; he'd never had friends outside the Einzbern Homunculi, save for AFTER the events of the 5th Heaven's Feel.
Nevertheless, Herwald was determined to find out more about Riddle, so much so that he looked him up in the school archives next day. Or tried to, as whoever Riddle was, he wasn't listed amongst the four houses in Herwald's year.
It took going back almost fifty years before he caught his first break, as it seemed that Riddle, otherwise known as Thomas Marvollo Riddle, a Slytherin Prefect and eventual Head Boy of Hogwarts prior to graduation, had won an award for special service to the school, though the details weren't listed.
"He sounds like Percy." Ron muttered, the redhead wrinkling his nose in disgust as Herwald listed off Riddles many achievements after breakfast "Prefect, Head Boy… probably top of every class…"
"You say that like it's a bad thing." Hermione countered in a slightly hurt voice, earning a an awkward look from Ron, who scowled at Draco for snorting in amusement.
The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again, a sense of hope rising within the castle in the passing of the new year without any more attacks, which only grew when Madam Pomfrey announced that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood, which meant it wouldn't be long until they were cut up and stewed to be included in Snape's antidote.
One of the few people who DIDN'T relax at the lack of attacks was Ernie Macmillan, the stout Hufflepuff still resolutely convinced that Herwald was the guilty one, going on for hours on end about how it was only a matter of time before he was caught in the act, only shutting up whenever Herwald was within earshot, during which time he went so still he may as well have been petrified.
To make matters worse, Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop, the fop actually going out of his way to say this to Professor McGonagall while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration.
"I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva." he bragged tapping his nose knowingly and winking roguishly at the Deputy-headmistress "I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him."
"I take it you found your wand then, Herr Lockhart?" Herwald asked in passing, startling the fop as he smiled at him, a fake, friendly smile that nonetheless gave the impression of fangs and venom.
"Err…no, no I haven't actually." Lockhart countered, looking a little thrown "Fortunately I ALWAYS keep a spare, though that hardly does Mr. Finch-Fletchley any good." He recovered his bravado admirably however "I'll just bet the scallywag was the one who pinched it in the first place! Probably snuck in to gauge the competition, saw he was outmatched, and decided to even the odds."
"Shouldn't he have gone after Professor Snape then first sir?" Herwald countered, smiling so innocently butter wouldn't melt in his mouth all the while, McGonagall snorting, clearly not buying it for a second, though Herwald caught a look of approval in her eyes "He really gave you what for."
"Yes…" Lockhart muttered, looking decidedly uncomfortable, sending the boy a covert glare, only to avert his eyes quickly at the icy emerald stare that awaited him "You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster." He opined, quickly changing the subject and as he looked at McGonagall "Wash away the memories of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing…"
Herwald didn't like the sound of that, and had a distinct feeling that in the days to come his desire to murder the hapless fop was about to get a lot worse.
The next morning...
Sure enough, at breakfast time on February fourteenth, as Herwald was escorting a drowsy Draco into the hall for breakfast, the Malfoy heir having not gotten much sleep because of a late-running Quidditch practice the night before, only to freeze at the sight that awaited them.
"Did we walk into the wrong hall?" Draco wondered, suddenly horrifyingly lucid as he stared at the large, lurid pink flowers lining the walls, and the heart-shaped confetti that was falling from the pale blue ceiling.
"I wish we HAD." Herwald muttered, the Einzbern glancing towards the Gryffindor table, where he espied Ron, who looked just as sickened as he was, Neville, who seemed a little thrown by what was going on, and Hermione, who seemed to have been overcome with giggles, an affliction she shared with most of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff girls, with the notable exception of Ginny Weasley, who was blushing like a tomato.
Sure enough, the mastermind behind this abomination turned out to be Lockhart, the fop, dressed in lurid pink robes to match the decorations, standing up at the Staff Table and waving for silence, the stony faced teachers on either side of him looking torn between amusement, confusion, wanting to curl up in a corner and die from embarrassment, or wanting to murder the little prick in a gory, painful, highly satisfying manner.
'McGonagall looks like she's going to have kittens…" Herwald noted, watching the tick in the Gryffindor Head's cheek muscle twitch away in mild amusement, though her displeasure was NOTHING compared to Snape's, the Potion's Master looked as though he'd been force-fed an entire cauldron of Skele-Gro 'Honestly, it's like the fop doesn't WANT to live…'
"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted, unaware or uncaring of the silent enmity being levelled at his back by his colleagues "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all…" he smiled as if he HADN'T committed a felony worthy of execution "and it doesn't end here!"
"There's MORE?" Draco muttered, enawed with the horror of it all as Lockhart clapped his hands, the doors to the entrance hall opening to admit a dozen surly-looking dwarfs.
Now normally it is very hard to read a Dwarf's expression, as they were a NATURALLY surly-looking race whose lifetimes far outstripped mere mortals, and as such had plenty of time to work on their poker faces. Coupled with their gorse-bush beards, it was almost impossible to get a dwarf to express any emotion other than overall surliness, except possibly anger, as they had a fierce temper and were quick to go for the axes they always carried with them and attack the nearest offender en masse.
However, these dwarves were looking particularly surly, even for dwarfs, and they had a good reason to do so, as not only had Lockhart apparently forced them all into wearing golden wings, he'd forced them to carry harps, though Herwald was relived to note the fop hadn't been stupid enough to try and get them to leave their axes behind. Trying to separate a dwarf from his axe was almost as difficult on getting them to part with their gold, more than likely they'd have brought Hogwarts down around their ears for the offense.
"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart, miraculously able to ignore not only the enmity aimed at him from behind, but the barely concealed bloodlust emanating from his ineptly-named 'cupids', who were muttering foul things in dwarfish "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines!" he spread his arms wide "And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"
Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands, and Herwald was surprised to detect a string of rather foul Gobbledygook emerging from the diminutive Charms Master, though his mortification paled in the face of Snape's anger, the Potion's Master sending a warning glare to the assembled masses that promised he would force-feed poison to the first person to ask him for a Love Potion.
Later...
"And he calls himself an honorary member of the Dark Arts Defence League…" Herwald muttered, the Slytherins walking along the corridor towards their next class "Any member worth their salt would know Love Potions are ILLEGAL."
The employment of Love Potions on another person was considered a pretty serious offence in the Wizarding world, almost as bad as using the Imperious on someone. Even SUGGESTING their use was considered a felony in itself, though surprisingly actually BREWING the stuff was fine, provided, of course, the brewer could prove they had no intention to USE them.
"I know what you mean…" Draco muttered, the Malfoy heir looking decidedly put out, as it wasn't uncommon practice for Purebloods to be naturally wary around love potions "Just wait till Father gets wind of this, he'll have the lout out before you can say-!"
"Oy, you!" a voice interrupted, the Slytherins turning to see a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing and kicking at the shins of a line of Gryffindor First years that got in his way, his eyes locked on Herwald "You 'Arry Potter?"
"I'm afraid you've made a mistake, Sir Dwarf." Herwald countered in dwarfish, earning a look of surprise from the dwarf, while Draco looked at him in confusion "My name is Herwald von Einzbern." He waved a hand dismissively at the dwarf's look "Yes, THOSE Einzbern's. Now is there something I can help you with?"
"You could start by telling me where to find 'Arry Bloody Potter, young Einzbern." The Dwarf muttered, his tone decidedly less angry, and more intrigued, his foul temper soothed somewhat by the novelty of conversing with a student in his own language "I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter, in person."
Herwald grimaced, eyeing the Dwarf's harp as it twanged in a threatening sort of way, the Einzbern swore the damned instrument was LEERING at him.
"Not that it's any of my business, young Einzbern," the dwarf asked, looking exasperated and, dare he say it, embarrassed "but you wouldn't happen to know what the hell is going on around here? Every time I ask people where Potter is, they either start mutterin' nonsense about some monster or flinch and avoid me."
"There's been a string of attacks recently." Herwald admitted sourly "Unfortunately, due to groundless rumour, it seems Potter is the prime suspect, though nobody can prove anything."
"Students, PHAH!" the dwarf spat, looking disgusted at the first years, who scampered off looking nervously over their shoulders "Worse than fishwives I swear…sod this, I need a drink…"
"I believe Hagrid, the groundskeeper, can assist you in that regard." Herwald noted, sensing a way to put end to this little farce immediately "I recently sent him a barrel of Einzbern's finest Mead." He smiled as the dwarf's eyes lit up at the word 'mead' "If you're lucky he'll have made scones too…not quite as good as the ones you're used to I'll wager, but it's as close as you and your colleagues are likely to get to a good forged loaf."
"Yer a Saint, young Einzbern." The dwarf offered, tipping his helmet respectfully before turning on his heel and racing off down the corridor, no doubt off to tell the others the good news, leaving Herwald alone with Draco.
"Was that dwarfish?" the Malfoy heir asked, quirking a brow at the Einzbern youth "Why didn't you tell me you'd mastered that language?"
"I haven't mastered it." Herwald countered hoarsely, grimacing as he felt the back of his throat, hoping he hadn't torn anything "I can get by with the common dialect, but it's physically impossible for a human without a lifetime supply of lozenges and a throat infection to master the language, though I get by."
"You're a man of many talents, Einzbern…" Draco muttered, shaking his head in bemusement, a little unnerved by his friend's words even as he led the way to transfiguration.
That evening...
Long after the rest of the dorms had gone to bed, Herwald sat on his four-poster and flicked through the blank pages, scowling at their continued defiance. 'This'd be so much easier if you were alive…' he muttered, glaring at the seemingly innocent blank pages in annoyance 'I'd have your secrets out of you in seconds…whoever the hell your owner was, he must've been a prodigy.
Unfortunately, outside his school records and award, there didn't seem to be any trace of Tom Riddle after he graduated, top of his year of course, and set off into the world. He briefly considered asking Rin to find out if Zelretch had ever heard of the man, but squashed such ideas, as even if he HAD met the ancient master of the Kaleidoscope magic, it was unlikely Zelretch would willingly reveal such information, not without some price Rin would be unwilling to pay.
Muttering darkly to himself, he tossed the diary onto his bedside counter, only to curse as it knocked over his inkwell, the Einzbern moving to clean up the mess, only to blink in surprise as the diary seemed to soak the spilt ink up like a sponge.
"Was zur Hölle?" he wondered, frowning as he picked up the book, flipping through the pages only to find they were as unmarked as ever despite being drenched only a few seconds ago. Quirking a brow, he pulled a new bottle out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his new eagle-feather quill into it, and dropped a blot onto the first page of the diary, where it shone brightly for a second, before vanishing as though it was being sucked into the page.
'Well…that's interesting…' he muttered, intrigued despite himself "Quite the ingenious little security method, I'll have to let Rin know once I figure out how he did it.'
He moved to put the book back on the bedside when he paused, 'I wonder…' he muttered, glancing at the book, intrigued despite himself, his hand moving almost of its own volition as he reloaded the quill, this time writing 'My name is Herwald von Einzbern' on the page, the words shining momentarily before they to sank without a trace. Just as he was about to close the book in defeat however, words he'd never written came oozing back onto the page, in his own handwriting and ink no less.
"Hello, Herwald von Einzbern. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?"
And the shit has officially hit the fan.