Chapter XXIII: An empty belly and a full belly.
From our garden of hell grows a flower,
Impregnated by our cries and our anger.
A fruitful rosebud of pure hatred,
Let's not be surprised at what we sow.
Blooming in all seasons, the rose is so big now,
From our own garden, we are banished.
Footnote, signed by Ominis Gaunt
The days that followed were eerily quiet. Eddy didn't even know if he was still under imperium because everything seemed cloudy and distant to him. He felt like he was in a bubble; he attended classes detached from everything because nothing mattered. Part of him was screaming to do something; the other part—possibly his body—was begging him to let go. So, everything would be fine. He worked as he was told and even got good grades, and he slept completely washed out most of the time. Sal must have noticed something was wrong, but he did not. Eddy noticed Salazar watching him, as did Medusa, and it was in those moments that the burning part of him screamed louder than anything.
And there, fighting hurt, as if Riddle was still pressing on his heart. When he met him in the corridors, a whispering voice told him to lower his head and to behave.
Time had stretched and everything was far away, so he didn't see a hand grabbing him one day when they were leaving astronomy class. It was late; he was the last out, and he didn't see who was pulling him into the darkness of an empty classroom.
When he turned to leave immediately, he noticed that he was in Medusa's presence. She was disillusioned, and he barely saw the faint outlines of her wand-lit figure. She carefully closed the door and locked it. She then motioned for him to be quiet while Professor Sinistra returned to her chambers. An imperious voice told him not to stay in Medusa's presence.
"You're going to be fine, Eddy. I need you to help me."
In the light of the girl's wand, he could only see two large black eyes, so dark that he thought he was sinking into them.
"You have to fight the Imperium; you can do it."
She stroked his face with one hand to force him to look at her. This contact was so soft that it seemed to pull him out of the sensation of torpor he felt.
"Fight him. You have to fight him back," she whispered to him.
The order rang in his head like a painful chime—so painful it felt like his head was going to explode. Medusa's whisper mingled with the unforgivable and told her to make a choice. His mind struggled against the force, and as he struggled, he felt Medusa grab his hand to help him. This contact strengthened his will and brutally drove his presence into his head. He had a sort of forward sneeze and noticed, in amazement, that blood was flowing from his nose. Eddy wiped himself with a corner of his robe as Medusa helped him to his feet.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Completely lost. How long have I been-?
"Almost three weeks. I couldn't leave you in his grip anymore; Sal was sick of it too."
She took a handkerchief out of her dress pocket and handed it to him to finish wiping himself. Medusa's face didn't express much in the wandlight, but he hadn't been this close to her in a long time.
"You must have really pissed him off," she whispered. "He's never held out the unforgivable this long with us."
He vaguely remembered what he had seen in Riddle's memories. It wasn't so much that he saw something but that he managed to break through his mental defences that had Riddle worried and enraged. For a brief moment, his anger and fear had been stronger than his, by instinct, like that time he had seen in his teacher's memories before the end of his third year. Now that Dumbledore was gone from the castle, Riddle could do this kind of thing again, and even worse, he thought with a shudder. He doubted he could even be heard by the aurors if he wanted to denounce his teacher. He instinctively tightened his grip on Medusa's hand, and both of them realised that they hadn't released their fingers from each other. Eddy felt the blood rise to his cheeks.
"Thank you," he whispered. "I should have done the same for you."
She released him, boring him with her impassive black eyes. The glow of his wand was fading away from the dense darkness of the classroom. Eddy noticed that she looked tense and angry.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise he made you drink a filter. I should have understood and helped you with Ros-
"Don't say that name again. It's over for him," hissed the young woman. "He got what he deserved."
If Eddy didn't really feel compassion for Rosier, he did feel some for the young girl. He wanted to start a gesture, but suddenly the tip of the young girl's wand lit up, half-blinding him. She grabs his face.
"Didn't you act because you thought I deserved it? Answer me."
"No."
"Don't you think it's good for me after using you and being a pest?"
"Of course not!"
She looked barely satisfied, and she pursed her lips. Slowly, the euphoria left him, and he was able to regain use of his body.
"Let go of me!" he breathed, pulling away abruptly. "Why do you care of what I think?"
"Because I even do not know if I deserve it," exploded the young girl in anger. "I thought that getting revenge on him would make me feel better, but it's wrong. So if I'm bad, there's a reason, isn't there?"
She looked so disturbed that this image reached deep within him and brushed against something painful. It was like when Riddle seemed to hold his heart between his fingers in his office, but it was more diffuse and sweet. Pain built as he saw the distress in the girl's brown eyes.
"You didn't deserve what R-, what he did to you," he corrected himself in a soft voice. "Nobody deserves this. No one deserves what happened or what you and your brother are going through with your parents."
"Shut up," she hissed abruptly. "Don't start; you're the first to go see my father. All because you're more afraid of him than of yourself. Don't let yourself put a necklace around your neck if you want to have something to say about it."
"Very well," retorted the stung teenager. "Anyway, it's not like I can do anything about him anymore."
Yes, maybe it was now the only solution to run away from Mr. Riddle now that he could put him under his control at the slightest moment. But he could never leave without Salazar and Medusa, not after what the three of them had been through together.
Medusa seemed to be thinking intently; she lowered her wand, extinguished it and cupped his face to kiss him. He answered it for a second before pushing her away slightly, terrified at what Riddle might do if he found out. The girl froze before turning on her heels in the dark to open the door. Eddy wanted to say something relevant, but three little words came out, ridiculous and unthinkable in this situation.
"I love you."
"I know," the girl sighed, showing him her back.
She quickly left, as if he had hexed her. She had seemed almost more frightened by those words than when he had unwittingly attacked her in the hallway. Eddy, ashamed and confused, felt his Obscurus roar loudly for the first time in a long time. Pain paralysed him in place as he half collapsed against the door. The voice of Apollon Picott springs from the end of the corridor, apostrophizing Medusa.
"Miss Riddle! What are you doing here at this hour? Still scheming with the cursed poltergeist?"
He was walking down the hall on his stumpy legs towards the young girl, as Eddy guessed by the half-open door.
"Mind your own business, old squib. This castle belongs to us now," the young girl whispered when the caretaker had come close enough. "You're going back to do your guards; you haven't seen anyone here. Nobody. It's clear?"
"Yes," whispered the old man in a terrified voice.
"Now hop out of here."
He complied because Eddy heard the janitor walk away with a strange rhythmic gait of skipping feet and breathless moans. He heard Medusa giggle mournfully at the sight as she disappeared in the opposite direction. This spectacle and the sound of her laughter seemed so painful that, deep down, Eddy felt his Obscurus perform a kind of dance with all his organs. He felt like the monster was kicking his ribs and inside his body for control. Then, by dint of struggling, the young man weakens and ends up falling asleep.
He woke up the next day so late that he missed the first class of the day and got detention. All the detentions now took place in the Great Hall, and all the stuck students met there after dinner to copy texts and do additional work. If it didn't change much about the study, there was a chilling vibe to it due to it being overseen by Riddle.
The Headmaster was working on a desk, and if one of them raised his head from his work, he noticed them immediately and twisted them with a look so cold that you could no longer hear a pin drop.
Yes, the atmosphere of Hogwarts has since become very studious and calm, much to the delight of certain professors like Slughorn. Eddy had learned that Riddle had made him Deputy Headmaster. If the other houses had shouted at the injustice of seeing two Slytherins at the head of the school, no teacher had apparently issued the slightest protest. A kind of screed had slowly descended on the school, and while some realised something had changed, not all realised the danger.
Riddle knew he had broken free from the imperium; did he know how? Eddy ignored it and has done everything to avoid it ever since. No session had been scheduled for weeks. He had been shaving the halls for days, sometimes with Salazar, sometimes alone, but mostly with his head down. If he met Medusa's gaze again, he was sure he was in so much pain that he would be able to blow up the school.
So much so that he didn't immediately notice the witch he was bumping into one morning after his history of magic lesson. It was Charity who dropped her books when her shoulder bumped into hers. He bent down immediately to pick them up and help the young woman. Her class had been moved to the ground floor, just like her apartments, to facilitate her movements. Eddy didn't know what compelled Riddle to such a delicacy. Since the incident with the spiders, she has regained some colour, and a magical prosthesis has replaced her leg. Eddy secretly thought it made her look a bit like a pirate with her scar under her eye.
"Thank you, Eddy. How are you? We haven't seen each other much lately."
"Very well," he lied like a refrain. "I didn't return the book you lent me; I can go get it and give it to you tonight," he reminded himself as he returned his books. "And you-
He didn't dare finish his question as much out of modesty as out of the respect imposed by her teacher status.
"I'm fine," she said in her refrain of a small, high soprano. "You can keep it. I hope this could help you in your research."
"Time will tell," he answered uncertainly. "I am going to leave you. Good day, teacher."
He still had his aunt and the rest of his family to look for, but with everything that had happened this year and the growing threat from Dumbledore, Riddle, and Grindelwald, he didn't know where he stood. All he wanted was to end the year as soon as possible, if his body was capable of it.
"Next year, Muggle Studies classes will be compulsory," Charity said. "You can't escape me!"
"Mandatory?" Eddy said, turning to the young woman.
"Yes, To-, Professor Riddle thought this innovation was necessary. The School Council even gave their approval," the witch enthused. "At such complicated times, changes always come. It all depends on the kind of changes you allow to happen."
Eddy wasn't sure if she was talking to him out of irony or naivety. He left her in the meantime to join his common room. He had a gaping hour before lunch and hoped to get a few minutes of sleep to get through the rest of the day. It very badly took him because he was not the only person to have had this idea. Many of his classmates, as well as a few sixth-graders, were in the common room chatting or revising. In a corner, Eddy noticed Charm and Froufrou Umbridge's cat warming up to something. Eddy noticed it was a pigeon with a little letter attached to its leg. None of his comrades were moved by this sad spectacle.
"Hey, let it go, you two!"
Charm meowed seriously at him. Eddy noticed when he grabbed the pigeon that he was injured in the wing and was bleeding a lot. Charm meowed more, as if to warn him.
"He was already hurt," Umbridge squealed, picking up Froufrou quickly as if afraid he'd hit her. "It wasn't my cat that attacked your damn pigeon; your ugly tomcat brought it back earlier."
"It's not my bloody pigeon," he growled at the girl who was leaving, but he froze when he noticed that the little paper was Muggle.
Charm looked at him with serious eyes, and Eddy understood that the message was addressed to him and that his family had found the injured animal to bring him back. He looked around for Sal's help. But this one was rarely in the common room because he felt bad there. Eddy was lucky, though; he appeared happily with Rita a few moments later.
Without a word, Salazar saw the little pigeon in his comrade's hands, and his expression immediately changed to a worried one. He traced towards him, Rita following him, and she delicately grabbed the little pigeon before sitting down on the ground. Eddy bent over as Charm rubbed against his legs. Salazar was examining the wing seriously as he comforted the little animal.
"Good news," Rita chirped so abruptly in his ear that he jumped. "That's it; our article is going to be published in the Daily Prophet."
She finished her sentence in a low voice, her eyes shining behind her thick glasses. Sal muttered a few words, gently lifting a feather, and the blonde continued by pulling him into a corner of the common room.
"It will be published in two days. That gives us plenty of time to include the interview in tomorrow's Little Hogwarts edition. Riddle won't have time to block the newspaper," the young girl rejoices in a low voice.
"You don't trust Riddle," Eddy whispered, wondering what Medusa might have told her after years of friendship.
"No. Seeing how worried Medusa and Sal are when he's around, I knew that man was dangerous … and then I figured out what that word the boggart said the other time was: Beng."
She cast a worried little glance around her to check that they were really alone.
"If a woman on the brink of death saying such words is the scariest thing this man has in mind, it's that Hogwarts has just been handed over to great danger. Or a demon."
"How did you translate that word?" asked the teenager.
"Since the only gipsy in the area wouldn't answer me, I asked my mother. She went to have her palms read at carnies in London and asked them for me. She found it very exotic, even if, after hearing the translation, I got a howler. She thought I was doing dark magic, I practically had to swear an unbreakable oath for her to believe me!"
"Now you understand why I couldn't tell you anything. With this article, you will also get in trouble."
"My family has a good place in wizarding society; I'll only get a little detention at worst because we're not breaking any school rules. Haven't you noticed that purebloods and wealthy wizards go to detention less often? Riddle, Slughorn, and the Janitor are more accommodating to some of us."
Eddy frowned as he remembered the few detentions he had had since Riddle was headmaster; it was true that he had never met a pureblood there, in Slytherin at least. He had seen Lovegood and Arthur Weasley, but their kindness and open-mindedness had them categorised as Blood Traitors.
Salazar had finished tending to the pigeon, which flapped its repaired wing happily. The teenager had unhooked the little paper from his paw and handed it to him as he approached them.
"He was attacked," Sal whispered. "He received a black magic spell, but it will be fine now."
Eddy was horrified that Professor Riddle was watching his mail. He bit his tongue and clenched his fists furiously. His fingers snapped open the muggle paper. As he had expected, that was Mr. Berry's response after months of silence.
"Chav'
I would be this summer in the south. I may pass by Selsey.
We can go a long way together if you work and don't mess again.
B"
The letter was full of mistakes, but as often as Berry got to the point, there were only a few weeks left before the end of the school year. He hadn't thought about what he would do, but now things were clearing up. Eddy had little hope that his interview with Rita would have the slightest effect on his situation and thought that this vacation would be decisive for him because perhaps it was the last he spent in England—or else alive. He had no more time to waste.
Rita's interview therefore appeared the next day in Little Hogwarts Illustrated. The edition appeared during the evening, with Rita distributing it with Xenophilius with a delighted air at the entrance to the Great Hall, exchanging the small copy for the two noises requested from the various students. The last match of the year would take place this weekend between Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, and some students were eager to make their predictions. When Eddy arrived in the Great Hall with Salazar, Ludo Verpey was commenting on the article in front of an exasperated Rita.
"How do I make my betting predictions if you don't talk about the game to come, Skeeter? Your interview is very cute, but I need to have your back."
"If you don't have a galleon left, it's good for you," she scoffed. "And I don't refund."
The teenager turned around and passed Eddy and Salazar. He gave them a grimace before throwing the paper at them.
"Keep the spotlight. I imagine that the three of you are very happy with everything that is happening."
He stormed off towards the Gryffindor table to join Weasley, who seemed to be asking him to calm down so as not to receive a detention. Mr. Riddle was eating quietly at the staff table while reading the article; he didn't seem worried at all.
"What wrackspurt whispered in his ear?" wondered Xenophilius. "I really liked your interview."
Salazar leaned over to read the heading of the article on the faded, blued page. Eddy squinted to read the paper.
"Live my life as a wizard. I am an Obscurial, so what?
It's been over a year since Edward Lee was transferred to Hogwarts. If we all remember very well the crises we were able to witness during the year, this one was so hectic that an Obscurial crisis almost becomes a Monday like any other. In all this, some did not ask the first interested party how he felt.
For the first time, our comrade confides in what he feels and his differences.
Your faithful columnist got down to it, and Eddy lent himself to the exercise.
RS: So, Eddy, how are you feeling? You often seem tired lately.
EL: Quite tired most of the time, that's true.
RS: It's the Obscurus in you fighting against your body, isn't it?
EL: Yes. My magic was locked inside of me when I was a child, and since then it's been dissociated from me. More often than not, my magic and my powers struggle in my body and weaken it.
RS: Let's remind our dear readers that the Obscurus is an extraordinary magical power released when a young wizard suffers severe trauma. The young wizard's magic becomes unstable until it completely consumes the wizard's bodily envelope. So you're currently on probation on your own terms?
EL: Yes. I take treatments and look after myself. I do my best to heal myself and not hurt others. I am aware that I can be a danger because of my unstable magic, but I know that this power has only bad sides. I was able to protect my friends during the spider attack, which we were nearly done with.
RS: A power capable of protecting, then.
EL: Yes, I'm more and more convinced of that. My magic reacted instinctively at that moment, and the Obscurus completely took over my body without hurting anyone. I'm not bad, and if I try to understand this force, I could make something positive out of it.
RS: You are currently researching your past in this sense, and some may have noticed less magical instability lately.
EL: I'm doing my best so that doesn't happen. As I told you, I don't want to do any harm, but I don't want to be considered someone dangerous to lock up.
RS: So you're very worried about Wizengamot's new Wizengamot Guardianship Act being passed soon?
EL: Yes. If my magic is unstable, I don't want to depend on anyone because the Ministry decided it was best for me. I already have tutors who raised me and provided everything I could ask for. They helped me and still help me. This law could then affect anyone with unstable or 'strange' magic. I'm the only one named so far, but I know I won't be the only one.
"So you like it?" Rita cut him off in a low voice before he finished his reading. "In the Prophet, your identity will be hidden, of course, but Maureen Jackebott, one of the senior editors, assured me that we would at least be on the second page tomorrow. I hope we will talk about it."
"That's really great, Rita," said Sal, who had finished the article. "This is the first time that I have read one of your articles in full."
"Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?" hissed the blonde.
"Not bad," Eddy muttered.
Medusa in a corner of the room was also reading the article but was not interested in it. She looked even more tired and furious. A few students were whispering as they watched him. He hated being the one, but he still hoped he had done something right. The teenager suppressed a frown and turned to Skeeter.
"Let's wait until tomorrow to see what effect the article will have before rejoicing."
Salazar nodded, turning his gaze to his father at the staff table. The latter had finished reading the little newspaper and was watching them with an enigmatic air. They lowered their heads and parted quickly.
The next day, the Great Hall was packed when the Daily Prophet arrived by owl. The edition of the Gazette fell between Eddy's slices of bacon and his egg cup, and Rita grabbed it eagerly. Salazar arrived just then, with his robe wet from the light drizzle outside.
"They're replanting the forest," Salazar murmured happily. "There are trees that grow back, and I felt animals presence."
Sal looked so pleased that his joy was contagious, and even Rita gave a small pout as he sat down. The young girl presented the article to them with a victorious look. It was on the second page, as expected, and signed by Skeeter's quill. The young girl cut it out with a wave of her wand before slipping it inside a book.
"I shall never tyre of seeing my name in the Prophet," sighed the young girl.
"Don't tell me you have a notebook with all your articles," mocked Kheiron, who was drinking his coffee next to them.
Rita flushed scarlet, and the three boys scoffed. The Shafiq then turned to Eddy.
"Can you explain this need for fame to me, Lee? As much as Skeeter, we are used to it, but if one more student in our promotion starts to act the same, we will not survive it."
"I tried to do something good. I don't want pity; I'm trying to get my point across. I don't know if I can get better, but I don't want the ministry to put a leash around my neck."
Kheiron looked doubtful. Eddy wondered, a bit offended, how supportive his comrade was. Kheiron had already witnessed his instabilities precisely, and he was almost injured during Professor Belline's class, where Eddy had seen his aunt. Unwilling to tread this slippery slope, Kheiron looked like he wanted to change the subject, but his expression changed abruptly. With an almost comical gesture, he slid on the bench to move away from their small group and join the conversation that Umbridge was having with Parkinson with a very interested frown. Eddy, Salazar, and Rita turned to see Professor Riddle walking towards them.
He had the newspaper in his hand and the strangest expression. His features were melted in wax, giving him the intimidating look of a snake about to bite. When his gaze met the teen's, an expression of delight melted the snake mask into a cruel pout. At this sight, the teenager's heart lurched in panicky, almost animal-like fear.
He stood in front of them as silence fell in the Great Hall. Everyone had noticed the article in the Gazette and was waiting to see what Riddle had to say.
"Miss Skeeter, Mr. Lee, follow me."
His voice was polite but cold, and Eddy felt a shiver run down his spine. Rita looked a bit pale as Salazar jumped up on his bench.
"We didn't do anything wrong. It was also my idea-
"Stay at your place, Salazar."
This injunction was so cold that he fell back on the bench as if he had been beaten. At the Slytherin table, no one dared move, petrified by the headmaster's threatening aura. The professors at their table were tense and did not understand the chilling aura that their colleague gave off. Slowly, Eddy and Rita got up and followed the man. Rita was terrified and shaking like a leaf. She seemed to repeat in her head that nothing could happen to her. They left the Great Hall following the Headmaster who was heading for the second floor. Apprehension welled up inside him as they climbed the stairs like convicts following Riddle. In the hallway of the second floor, Eddy froze when he saw Charm licking the water draining from Myrtle's toilet. His feline noticed the professor and their worried look and spat furiously at the man.
He pulled out his wand abruptly, and before Eddy even had time to react, a spell paralysed the cat. The professor catapulted him into the classroom before grabbing Eddy by the neck to usher him in with Rita.
"Don't touch me!" belched the young man, trying to free himself.
The grip suddenly became hot and painful, and he thought the professor had put on a glove made of red-hot iron while he almost strangled him. Eddy spotted Charm, who had been thrown into the classroom; his pet was still under the effect of the spell, but he was close enough to leap towards him as soon as Riddle let his guard down.
Slowly, darkness gripped the room as a dark dimension flowed around the walls. Dread seized the teenager, who knew very well what was going to happen; his body froze. Rita was terrified by what she saw and jumped away.
"I think you have the wrong definition of obedience, Mr. Lee," Riddle spat.
"Like, I'm going to let you make your puppet out of me," the venomous teenager replied. "I didn't break any of our rules!"
"Professor Riddle," she squealed. "We did not violate any Hogwarts rules, and we used our freedom of expression."
"Crucio!"
The girl's cry broke the tense silence of the room and exploded for almost half a minute when Eddy couldn't move while his breathing was blocked. Riddle released the spell by lowering his wand. Rita on the floor was crying, and he threw Eddy at the witch's feet. As he swung towards the stunned Charming's body to protect it from his body, the professor teleported the animal into his hand. An icy and horrible fear spread through the teenager's entrails at the sight. He felt a sense of violence rising in him that made his hands tremble.
"I don't think I was clear enough when I ordered you to stop opposing me. You refuse to hear it," hissed the professor dangerously. "Your little articles and bravado are over. It's time for you to understand who you answer to now."
Riddle rested the tip of his wand against Charm's neck, which emerged from the spell with wide, panicked eyes. His feline struggled in the mage's iron grip.
"Leave him! Don't hurt him!"
"You're going to show us if you're still capable of protecting anyone. Crucio!"
Charm let out a high-pitched moan of pain. Rita sobbed more, and it was too much for Eddy, who felt himself explode. He let the Obscurus rein in him and just wanted to rip Riddle's face off with his bare hands. He slammed into him hard in the classroom. His teacher threw him with a wave of his hand and tightened the torture on Charm. Eddy was no longer aware of his body or of anything except the cry of his feline in danger. He felt himself attacking Riddle, who retaliated furiously. Between them was a terrified Rita, flattened on the floor. This second of inattention was fatal to him; a curse kept him on the ground as if he were stuck in a flaming spider's web, and he felt himself screaming in pain.
"Let's see if my theories are correct. You will remember your past alone. I'm not going to get into your mind this time; you're going to be on your own, or they'll suffer. Crucio!"
The spell hit Rita this time with full force; she began to scream in pain and terror while being shaken by spasms.
"Remember your muggle mother versus your drunken father. Remember how helpless you have been if you wish to do anything to help them!"
The eyes that Rita had evoked the same terror that her mother had once had towards his father. She cried so loudly that Eddy thought he was swallowed up in a black and misty ocean while recalling these memories. His mother had left to protect herself from him and his father. She had abandoned him when he tried to protect her. To these thoughts, no image came; nothing came to contradict this affirmation, and he felt all the more swallowed up by helplessness. The pain paralysed him in place as his whole being seemed to have melted into a furious, crackling ball of magic. Around him, he noticed that the shield floor around the classroom had caught fire. Smoke had invaded the room.
"Your parents are gone and probably dead by now. Admit that you used your gifts to help someone despicable! Here is your mistake: An error in judgement, like many people in this world, delighted Riddle, whose eyes had reddened. This is your weakness!"
Shut up! SHUT UP! roared a voice from the depths of his entrails that echoed throughout the room until a piece of the black wall around the classroom burst. This increased Riddle's anger, and he threw Charm to the ground as if it were a stuffed animal. His old kneazle was curled up on the ground; this vision so unhappy invaded Eddy with something so burning and hateful that he thought he would die in the moment pulverised by rage.
"We're going to have to use the hard way. Avada Kedavra!"
A green ray invaded the darkness, Rita let out a cry, and Charm fell dead at the girl's feet. Charm was dead. Dead.
The coldness of this observation was thrown in his face like a seal of icy water. For Eddy, what followed was both vague and clear at the same time. He had to kill Riddle. He felt himself freeing himself from the curse the way one ejects a mosquito and rushes towards Riddle. His teacher had expected it and brutally cast a spell in his direction.
He seemed electrocuted, and an image then came to his mind.
He was small and had just hit his father with a frying pan by the fire. He hadn't done it on purpose, but this weird thing in him wanted to react when dad slapped mom. He had wanted to do something good. He had wanted to stop Mom's sadness. His father was devastated, and Mom was slowly approaching him.
"You did this?" she asked in English, a little worried and fascinated.
"Sarchin daje? Sarchin?" (Are you okay, mom?) asked the little boy, throwing himself into her arms.
"Yes, sweetheart," she replied, firming her grip, but Eddy could feel deep down inside that she was scared. "Please don't hit dad like that again."
The picture changed. It was another summer day in the countryside. The weather was nice, and he was outside with Mom, taking a bath in a basin near the caravan. Mom was putting away the laundry while he was playing in the water. There was Banjo the horse, who was trying to drink the soapy water because the basin often served him as a bowl. The horse's muzzle plunged into the water, making Eddy laugh, but the animal snapped its head out in disgusted air and trotted off further. Eddy went back to playing with his duckling in the tub.
"We're going to get my heart out soon," his mother whispered softly in his ear.
He felt her freeze behind him, and Eddy spotted, with his little child's gaze, the silhouette of his father going up the hill. He looked furious, and both of them understood it at first sight.
"Jalled! Jalled!" he growled. "They left."
"Zelda's gone?" His mother alarmed herself, instinctively stepping in front of Eddy when his father was only a few metres away.
"All gone," he growled. "They left us! It's because of him and what you went to tell Zelda!"
Arriving at their height, he brutally grabbed her arm and was about to hit her. This gesture panicked Eddy, who let out a high-pitched yelp, and a huge bubble of hot water spurted out of his bath to hit his father in the chest. The water was so hot that he jumped out of the way, screaming. His mother spun around to pull him out of the water, and when she realised he was the one who had done it, her expression changed.
"I told you to stop doing that!"
His mother held him in her arms and hurt him—really hurt him. Eddy felt like crying, facing her furious eyes. His mother couldn't add anything more because she took a blow from her husband, then Eddy followed and gasped in terror. He felt himself leaving.
When he opened his eyes, it was to face Riddle. He was still confronting him; Rita was on the ground next to Charm's body. His memories, mixed with the latest events, brought up a burning rage that struck like a fire. Riddle's smirk changed to a worried expression as the Obscurial began to thump at his tusks. Now, driven by hatred, he was stronger than ever; he only called for one thing: to destroy Riddle. The pain didn't matter anymore; all that mattered was hurting him. Brutally, Eddy broke through Riddle's defences and hexed him in the face. The professor tipped over, and the teenager felt himself going into his head. For the first time, he was in control because he was the strongest. A burning memory as violent as himself emerged before him.
Riddle was a child; he was maybe six years old. He was a fine-looking little boy, but with dull eyes and very sunken cheeks. Riddle was in a gloomy room that looked like a dungeon. He was in a crypt, and a priest was talking to a woman in a nun's habit, ignoring the little boy who was sitting in a chair with his head bowed.
"This child has the devil in him; Mrs. Cole knew how to put herself in the hands of God at the right time. We are going to assist this boy. Tell her we'll bring him back in a few days, cured of all his ailments."
The woman went back up the stairs to reach the nave of the church, and the little boy cast a mournful look at the man.
Eddy felt himself thrown off but angrily tightened his grip, and the image flickered slightly as another memory materialised around him.
Riddle was tied to a chair. He was skinny and looked dehydrated. His eyes were two little black balls at the end of their tether. Above him, the priest was chanting incomprehensible things in Latin and asking the demon to come out of his body. Brutally, the priest slapped the child several times and started his refrain again. It seemed like days for the boy, who no longer had the strength to bear it. He began to whistle something, and Eddy guessed it must be parseltongue.
"In the name of the Father, I ask you to leave the body of this child, Demon!
This strengthened the will of the clergyman, who began to shake the boy in all directions with a grotesque air. Riddle took advantage of this opening and brutally banged his head against the priest's chest to push it away from him. However, everything exploded in the crypt; something angry inside him had responded louder than anything he had ever done. Riddle emerged from the rubble, intact if we omit the blows he had already received but alive, unlike the other residents of the old church, which went up in smoke.
The boy in the rubble looked around, telling himself that it was all over. Facing Riddle was a black, dark form that quivered with a kind of whirring rage. The boy wiped his mouth and slowly approached the shape. If that was what had saved him, he was curious and tense, as if he feared that black thing might explode at any moment. Maybe that was the demon the people at the orphanage were talking about, like that ridiculous priest? Slowly, the little boy reached out his hand.
The black form materialised into a figure that took on his appearance.
The little boy looked at his reflection. If that was the demon, so much the better, he thought.
He had stopped that twisted old man who was hitting him and all those who said nothing above this crypt. Her face in front of him faded and became a smoke that joined him with pleasure. Tom felt intense joy. They had paid, the little boy thought fiercely as he crawled out of the smoking rubble. There was fire all around him, and the church was about to collapse, but Tom felt no fear. Everything was fine.
"Chavo! Chav"!
A man grabbed him brutally by the arm, and the boy tried to escape from this grip, but, too tired from these last days of suffering, he let himself be carried away. They left the burning building as the man ran headlong, hugging him. Outside, people were trying to put out the flames by throwing buckets of water. The man let go of him, and Tom noticed that he was a dark-skinned man with black eyes. He was joined by another man and a small woman dressed in a long petticoat. The boy had seen people like that before in the neighbourhood around the orphanage; they were called gipsies.
There was a gipsy child from the orphanage a year earlier who had disappeared with several of them, he had heard. Mrs. Cole had always told them to beware of them, as apparently they kidnapped children. The little woman grabbed his face and cooed words the boy didn't understand.
"'Sashen, Chav? Sashen? Tutti rattavela? (Are you bleeding?)
She inspected him from every angle with a worried air and kissed his forehead suddenly. The boy got rid of this grip, completely disconcerted. Tom found that he was much more stunned than he claimed, and his legs gave out, accusing him of the blow after a few days. The woman took a spoon from her pocket and handed it to him as the church finally collapsed with a mournful crash. A long scream echoed down the street as firefighters arrived in a darkened truck. He refused the sugar with a panicked wave of his hand.
"I recognise you; you're one of Wool's chavs," said the third gipsy with a strong accent, leaning towards him.
Tom had seen him mending pots and pans before in the buildings next to the orphanage. The little boy watched them without a word, and the woman was wailing loudly in front of the burning church; she was screaming with her hands outstretched to the sky in a long prayer. They attracted wary looks from other people in the church square.
"Take me with you!" the little boy almost ordered.
He had to get out of here at all costs; he didn't dare imagine what would await him if he returned to the orphanage after that. At this injunction, the trio frowned and muttered to each other:
"Lel chav mansa," (I'm taking the kid with me), exclaimed the gipsy who had rescued him from the flames.
Tom didn't understand a thing, but he could see that people were talking about him. Anguish twisted his features more easily than any exorcism.
"Take me with you!" he shouted again to the man.
"Kek, muk akai. Si o Gadjo! (No, leave him here; he's a gadjo!) Lengi vel for him. (They will come for him.)
" Kukro!" (He is alone), chirped the man.
The one who must have been the eldest of the group ended up choosing to leave the place where their presence triggered more and more hostile looks, and they took the little boy who could barely walk with them. The two gipsies were still talking in low voices. The little boy tried to meet their gaze; he needed to know who these people he was following were. Usually one look was enough for him to understand who he was in front of and how to defend himself from them, but he didn't understand them at all.
Sometimes he could get into people's heads by meeting their gaze, but when he met the gaze of the fortune teller next to him, he only heard the sound of a refrain.
"What are you talking about? What are you saying?"
The oldest of the gipsies slapped his hand on the boy's shoulder more to support him than to threaten him, but the little boy was in no condition to understand anything anymore. He pushed the hand away and froze as he recognised the street. They had taken him back to the orphanage!
Mrs. Cole watched the smoke from the fire several blocks away as she swept across the yard and seemed struck by lightning as she recognised him at the end of the driveway. Tom began to struggle with all his might to escape. He didn't want to go back there!
The two brothers surrounded him as Tom hit them with all his might. He tried to claw and bite, and then finally, his weakness of the last days finished his efforts. He fainted.
Eddy opened his eyes abruptly. He got up just as quickly, not understanding where he was. A second earlier, he had faced Riddle with Rita, but that was no longer the case. The teenager scanned his surroundings and recognised the Hogwarts infirmary. The sun was about to set soon, and he was the only resident. He was in a bed at the back of the infirmary, but he especially noticed a kind of cage all around him. The rungs were gleaming like white gold. When Eddy wanted to approach his hand from his bed, he received a powerful discharge of magic, so powerful that it left him ringing in his sheets.
"Mr. Lee! Are you okay?" asked the nurse's voice, running towards him.
The latter had come close enough and handed him through the bars a strengthening potion. The last elements came back to him suddenly as he grabbed it.
"What am I doing here? Why am I in a cage? Where is Riddle? How is Rita?"
"Slowly slowly. Take this, Mr. Lee. It's been three days since you returned to human form; you still have to take care of yourself."
"What? I've been passed out for three days?"
"No, Mr. Lee," corrected Mrs. Pomfrey gently. "You left the dining hall with Miss Skeeter and the Headmaster two weeks ago. You lost control and attacked them before he was able to stop you."
Eddy couldn't believe his ears. For him, it was as if only a few minutes had passed. He feverishly took the fortifying potion when he noticed that he no longer felt his legs.
Mrs. Pomfrey gave him a worried look, as if she feared he might explode in front of her, then stormed out of the infirmary, leaving the teen completely sluggish and stunned. Eddy froze because a figure was coming towards him, locking the door of the infirmary, and he knew this person very well. Chains immediately came to tie him to the bed as he struggled fiercely. Riddle approached with an icy air.
"Where's Rita? What did you do to her?"
"Miss Skeeter is fine, unlike your wretched ball of hair," the headmaster replied in an icy voice.
When Riddle got close enough, Eddy noticed in astonishment that a long scar crossed the man's face. On his cheek, a long black line extended in small, distorted lines. It looked like a negative image of lightning striking, and it was the exact spot where he had hit it as he threw his spell back at him. That scar was nothing compared to what he could do if the professor released him.
"That's for Charm," he hissed back impetuously. "I'll kill you!"
Riddle froze, and his face stretched into a twisted, dangerous mask.
"You'll calm down right away; I don't have time to bother with your mood swings," Riddle replied immediately. "After mortally wounding your pet, knocking out your comrade, and attacking me, you're lucky you're not directly in Azkaban."
"So, are you?" The teen growled, struggling more against the chains until he was in pain, and every link seemed to be sinking into his skin. "It's you! You're the one who hurt them; I'm going to kill you!"
The pain was as often a warning message sent from his body to the monster in him that came to life. He was immediately overcome with pain and felt his energy drain slowly. Eddy fell limply back against the cushions.
"Don't you think that after more than a year of studying you, I haven't built something powerful enough to sustain you? This cage will slowly drain you of all your superfluous energy. You will stay there for a while for the good of all."
Riddle could have enjoyed the situation, but he looked oddly tense and tired. For the first time, the wizard in front of him seemed almost human to him. His complexion looked a bit sickly, and Riddle kept a relative distance from him.
Eddy remembered very well what he had seen in the wizard's memories. The abuse that this little boy had suffered and this black form that had appeared in front of him remained engraved in the mind of the young man. Riddle didn't seem willing to check on his own, but he knew what he had seen. Again, he felt the sorcerer's confusion as he stretched his face into a hard mask.
"Now that you have seen the true face of your people, accept it. They have abandoned you, and it is for this reason that you destroy everything in your path."
"Shut up," the teenager hissed, closing his eyes to refuse to look at the wizard. Leave me alone. I hate you. I hate you.
"Perfect; it will give you the motivation to move forward with me. To hope to defeat me."
The young man looked up to glare at the man. The professor pulled away and gave him an evil smile, lifting the strange, thin scar that was on his cheek now. With the back of his hand, he made a huge pile of textbooks and parchments appear at the foot of Eddy's bed.
"You will only come out of here on my goodwill; the more you struggle, the weaker you will feel. Now use your brain properly and stop fighting for the good of all."
"Professor Riddle, my patient needs some rest," Mrs. Pomfrey said as she left her office. "He has just woken up."
Riddle's facial expression wavered, and Eddy felt like he was daring him to torture the woman. Finally, the professor composed a neutral mask:
"I was going to leave Poppy. Mr. Lee seems to have been very touched by the latest events. He will remain here for observation. Prohibit any visit for him."
With these words, he left. The chains rippled along the teenager's body before dropping with an awful click. Mrs. Pomfrey approached with a meal tray and a sorry look.
"Mr. Riddle said it was the only way to keep you going," the nurse whispered, levitating the tray to the side table beside his bed. "This is only a temporary solution. You scared everyone, you know. Miss Skeeter passed out for two days."
"Is she okay at least?" whispered the teen, overcome with guilt.
"She's fine," the woman assured him. "She was very shaken up and doesn't remember very well what happened. Drink this; you need rest."
Maybe it was guilt, shame, anger, or despair, but again, he wanted to forget about it all. He took the small blue potion Pomfrey handed him and drank it bottom-up. It wasn't long before he closed his eyes, and as he fell asleep, his last thoughts were for Charm.
Riddle didn't let him out until the morning the Hogwarts Express left. He had failed all his exams, but a special dispensation from the director had allowed him to move on to the following year. After being locked in the back of this infirmary alone for weeks, half-conscious most of the time, he never wanted to be locked up like this again.
When Pomfrey brought the strange cage up to the ceiling, Eddy, who hadn't exercised for a long time, almost ran to leave. Halfway there, he nearly tipped over and had to hold on to a bed. As Pomfrey urged him to be careful, he stopped listening and headed towards the Great Hall. All the students had gathered their things, and when we started to recognise him, we jumped out of the way. The adolescent lowered his head and went to the refectory, where he received almost the same welcome.
Eddy went to sit at the end of the table in a hurry to leave this cursed school, but he absolutely didn't know what he could explain to Newt and Tina. He wanted to run away, never to meet anyone again. Salazar and Medusa arrived, and they sat down next to him. His comrades were pale and sickly-looking, but from their looks, Eddy guessed that he was too.
"I'm sorry," Salazar muttered in dismay. I pushed you to do the interview with Rita; I didn't think he would dare to attack Rita and C-C-Charm."
His voice cracked as he said the animal's name. After losing Silvana, Sal was taking one more loss, and obviously very badly, as he looked white as a ghost.
"It's not your fault," Eddy replied quietly. "It's his."
And mine too, he thought fiercely, and that pain ripped through his ribs so intensely that, for a second, he couldn't breathe. From there, he exhaled, holding back his tears. He should never have flinched; the fear of dying had made him take the worst decision of his life by taking this oath, and now he was responsible for Charm's death. He lowered his head to his plate, steeped in shame and guilt. Medusa remained silent and said nothing, and the teen ignored her thoughts.
"I'm going to kill him," he growled finally, raising his head. "He will pay; I will kill him."
He glared at Riddle, who was at the head table, totally ignoring them. Medusa looked a little mocking as she finished her tea.
"Just stay alive and safe. Both seem complicated to you."
Eddy knew she wasn't wrong and refused to admit it, but the rest didn't please her either:
"You know... He won a long time ago. You might as well do what he says and put your head down. It's not fair; he will always win. I will not fight."
The girl put down her cup of tea and walked away, as Sal looked like he wanted to retort. The teenager lined up his scones neatly on his plate, and Eddy wondered what he was thinking. If he hated his father as much as Eddy, he was so terrified of him that he no longer dared to act.
"It's not your fault what happened to Charm and Rita," Eddy whispered to him again to reassure him. "You are not responsible. He was the one who cast the spell."
"He had the last word, as always. When we disobey him, he always waits for the best moment to punish us. Have a nice holiday."
The teenager raised his blue eyes with a look filled with consuming guilt, then abruptly stood up and left him in turn. Eddy felt more alone than ever. He could only swallow a slice of bread before leaving the Great Hall to collect his belongings. Everyone whispered in his path and dodged him, lowering their heads as if he were going to shoot them all down one by one.
He went back to the dormitory quickly. His things were already packed and put away. Charm's basket sat enthroned on his bed, and in front of the teenager, he remained dumbfounded. He had the urge to set it on fire, and it happened in a second.
Eddy watched it burn in front of him, unrelieved, and picked up his things.
"Did you set the fire? Are you nuts? But you're not well, right?" shouted Gwendal.
The teenager came out of the bathroom with his toilet bag and looked devastated at the fire that was starting to spread on the bed.
Eddy tried to cast a water spell to stop the flames, but after weeks of imprisonment, his magic reacted explosively. Instead of a trickle of water, it began to rain inside their dormitory, which soon began to flood. Gwendal soaked and growled.
"I forgot my toilet bag. Happy holidays, Lee."
With these icy words, Pettigrew left. Eddy sighed, snorted despite the persistent rain in the dormitory, and left with his things.
He had almost run out of time on the Hogwarts Express, and as he walked down the path, he was alone, and everyone was avoiding him. Good, he didn't want to talk to anyone and just got out of here. Fear, rage, and sadness spoke to the most cowardly part of him, but he did not care.
As he was about to board the Hogwarts Express, Eddy noticed Riddle on the platform, greeting the students. Their eyes met, and the teenager read a kind of challenge. Eddy gave him a hateful grin and rushed into the train.
He knew what he had seen in Riddle's memories. In a short moment that had lasted days for him, he had been inside the little boy's head. He had felt what Riddle had felt about those Romani, and the teen wondered if Riddle understood enough of the language now to have understood what they were saying to each other that day.
In the cramped corridors of the train, everyone was fleeing him, and some were closing the door of their compartment, giving him a terrified look. This type of look he knew terribly well. Eddy thought back to his own memories, his mother's terrified look, and how much she had hurt him that day. This memory was like a tear in his eyes, and he thought he was faint just thinking about it. We had to find a compartment to sit in.
Neither Salazar nor Medusa were there, and his other comrades had fled from him. He found an empty compartment at the end of the train but noticed that Rita was hidden in a corner. He had not seen the girl since the day of the incident.
Rita was pale and had heavy, dark circles. When she saw him, she gave him a tight little smile before nodding to allow him to sit down. He collapsed on the bench, crippled with fatigue. Rita stubbornly stared out the window as the train pulled away, and she didn't seem to mind starting a conversation. Mrs. Pomfrey had told him that she didn't remember anything, but the teenager found her feverish and worried.
"Do you want to play chess?" the young girl finally asked after almost an hour of silence as the train sped by.
"Not really. I am the worst player ever. I'm sorry about what happened, Rita… It's not me-
"I know," whispered the girl in a very small voice. "I have images of what happened that day... Not all of it, but I know what I saw."
Rita returned to her contemplation of the glass with slightly misty eyes. She looked at his pale complexion and seemed to be chastising herself to put on a happier face. It stretched his features like a kind of sad scowl.
"I know Mr. Riddle erased part of my memory... but I'm not sure I want to remember the rest. What's the point?"
They had both shared the same terror in front of the professor but were just too scared to talk about it. It seemed vain, futile, and dangerous. Eddy had rarely felt so miserable and helpless.
"You know what? After all, I want to play a game," he whispered. "I take the black."
The young girl looked happy that the atmosphere was thawing a bit and gave him a grateful little pout.
They started the game without a word.
When the Hogwarts Express arrived in London, Eddy felt a lump in his throat with apprehension. He hadn't sent a letter to his guardians for a long time and hadn't confessed to them about Charm. So, when Tina and Newt saw him arriving alone with his luggage, he only managed to give them a kind of pitiful grimace. Newt seemed to understand before Tina, and he looked so intensely pained that Eddy could have stabbed him without barely hurting him in comparison.
"Time to go home, Edward," Newt whispered.
.
.
Medusa had said not a word when their father had driven them home later that evening. The three of them had eaten in a quiet atmosphere—their mother and Nagini were not present. Medusa had only glimpsed her since she was injured, and the latter often stayed in her bedroom in the attic. The atmosphere was as cold as possible in the priory.
Her father was often absent and did not care about them. Salazar and Medusa worked without a word, one on his notebooks, the other on dark magic, because that was what was expected of them. And we left them alone. Medusa hadn't had to open her mouth in a week except to answer when questioned. Sal spent his time outside with his notebooks, tending to the thestrals instead of their mother.
So, Medusa stayed in her room all the time, working in silence. She was quiet; no one came to talk to her. His father hadn't known about him since the incident in the Chamber of Secrets; he had just assured him that he had fixed his mistakes. Perhaps that was the only proof of kindness he was capable of—covering her up for murder. Officially for the Death Eater, Rosier had fled to escape his punishment.
Her father organised a few meetings of Death Eaters at Hogwarts, now deserted by students. Neither Medusa nor Salazar had been invited, and the young girl felt annoyed. Since that day in the Chamber of Secrets, she has had the need to fight to fill this dark force that was growing in her. It was beyond anger and rage, but when Medusa leaned into it, she found it as sweet as Felix Felicis.
In the middle of the night, Medusa was bent over the opal necklace she had stolen from Berk while still trying to pierce her curses. Since she got back, Medusa spent most of her time studying the necklace and barely slept at night.
She heard her father entering the priory as well as his gait as he headed for the kitchens. He must have seen the ray of light under his door and approached it. It was almost three o'clock in the morning. Medusa reflexively turned off the light, but the sound of his footsteps made him understand that he had already made the decision to come.
"Leave her alone," she heard her mother say through the door.
No doubt she had appeared right in front of her husband in a rustling shadow.
"It's late; she has nothing to do at this time."
"Are you concerned about her health now?"
"Of course I am." Her father's voice came out quietly, annoyed, behind the wooden panel. She no longer eats, no longer leaves this room, and no longer speaks to anyone. Salazar, what fly bit her? She took her revenge; she should be just fine."
"Probably," scoffed his wife. "Your inability to understand the most minimal feelings is not in your favour with her."
"Like you're doing better," her husband returned. "I am tired of his self-pity and of yours. If you get something done, do it; otherwise, get out of my way."
Her mother had to say something because he suddenly disappeared. Anxious, Medusa waited in her bed until finally her mother's silhouette emerged from the shadow of an armchair beside her. Medusa immediately lit the end of her wand and closed the velvet case around the necklace.
"What are you doing here?"
Her mother emerged from the darkness. She had recovered from most of her wounds thanks to days of healing and potions; her long black hair had grown back, but her face was drawn and her lips were thin, bloodless, and damaged. She seemed to be coming out of a terrible illness, although she gave him a dry little smile.
"You heard what we were saying; don't play innocent with me, Medusa. I felt I had more tact than your father."
Medusa lit a candle with the tip of the wand to feel safer with her mother and pulled away from her slightly.
"So in the end, what I feel doesn't matter to you. I just have to look good and be obedient."
"That's your father's point of view, indeed," her mother replied slowly. "Mine is a little more nuanced, my treasure."
She raised her eyebrows greedily as her lips quirked into a small smile. Medusa frowned, knowing exactly what she wanted. When her mother wanted something, she became sweet and seductive until she got it.
"Nagini is very tired, and I would like to show you something. Can I?"
Medusa gave up; she levitated the necklace in her drawer and then extinguished the candle.
Slowly, she felt her mother's presence surround her in the darkness. She put her hands on hers and greedily fed on her sorrows. For days she had felt her mother hovering around her for this sole purpose, and the more she drank, the more Medusa felt weak, as if she were wrapped in cotton. Her mother released her suddenly, then rocked her with her into the darkness. For several seconds, the young girl was blinded, but when she unstuck herself from the embrace of her mother, she found that they had left her room.
They were in a place in the swamp where Medusa had never been. It was dark there; the trees were only twisted and dangerous silhouettes, between which a blackish stream meandered. It was terribly cold there.
Her mother seemed to feel terribly well there, and Medusa only caught a glimpse of the light reflections of her dress; besides, she was invisible to her. She felt her mother slip a small square of chocolate into her hand.
"Eat; you're pale. This place is my favourite in these swamps. Muggles often get lost around here; I just have to wait for them. While waiting for my collation, sit down and eat near me, blood of my blood."
"If it's to watch you gobble up filthy muggles, I won't stay. I'm going back home."
"Come on, you need to talk. Me too. Sit down while you wait."
Medusa was, to tell the truth, much too intrigued. With the end of the wand, she lit a fire near her to burn in a small jar. In the middle of the swamp, the flames lit up and cast dangerous shadows on the trees. Her mother's face was cut out like a Venetian mask, leaving just one corner of her mouth oddly upturned in the light. Medusa bit into her piece of chocolate without much conviction while waiting for her mother to decide to speak.
"Your grandmother would have liked you very much. You have the same character as her sometimes. She was a seer; she hated her gift."
Her mother rarely spoke of her. Medusa knew that her father had murdered her; moreover, it was a taboo subject, like many things from her parents' past. That her mother would choose to talk about her after what Medusa had seen revealed during Dumbledore's trial intrigued her.
"When I was born," her mother began, "my mother quickly knew I was a Darkblood, and she was very scared of it. I always sensed fear in her. On my father's side of the family, I was a blessing. Among the Gipsies, the Kalis are revered, and that's how I lived. I was constantly in the caravan during the day, going out at night to dance and ease the pain.
Her mother began to play with the shadows around the fire. The countershapes came to life, and the shadows morphed into little dancers dancing.
"That was the magic I was doing for them. A proverb in our clan said that it takes a whole clan to raise a kali. It's not totally wrong. I took a little of their pain and tears from them to feed and distract them. Gipsies love kalis because they protect, entertain, and hide their loved ones. It was a bit of a balance that we found in our clan. In our language, we call things differently, so we look at them differently. I was given little prayers and gifts just to clear their heads. I liked that very much. By the blood of your grandmother and my father, I was considered a princess. We gipsies are the kings of this land, for all land is ours as we walk. That was what my father said."
"What was his name?" Medusa was fascinated by this story.
"Georg. Your grandmother met him while fleeing this country. He welcomed her into his family and always protected us. He wasn't a powerful wizard, but he was strong enough to protect himself. Our clan had a reputation in southern Albania. We were the last nomads of our kind, and we made ourselves respected. We met sometimes gadje or sometimes muggles. If we were left alone, we would have no reason to fight back. All was well."
His mother had a deep voice and spoke to her about that time with melancholy. Around the flames, the little dancing shadows stopped their dance, waiting for an order.
"And the war came. Slowly, we started to hide. Muggles had less and less to eat and were becoming aggressive. An empty belly and a full belly no longer speak the same language, and my mother saw something dark happening; no one really wanted to believe her. Times have become hard for us Romanis. We heard rumours about what was going on, but nothing concrete as we hid. Albania was quickly occupied, so we made the decision to go to Bulgaria. My mother thought it was foolishness and that we should stay in Albania. We didn't listen to her. We heard that the wizards in the mountains protected blood like ours. We went that way."
"Why were muggles after you? Who were these people?"
"Why were they after others?" argued her mother. "We weren't the only ones. People have declared us undesirable on land where our family has lived for centuries. If we followed their rules, we would have done nothing. We were right there. We always find something to complain about."
Her mother paused, looking like she was wondering how to continue. Her hollow eyes gleamed behind her thick, furrowed brows.
"We were caught at the Yugoslav border; the smuggler tricked us. Your grandfather and Uncle Dalibor tried to resist so that we could escape. They were both shot with one bullet, so we stayed calm. At that moment, all this sadness and horror around me literally engulfed me. I couldn't move anymore. We were parked like animals in waggons, all standing, more than a hundred, not knowing where we were going or what these Muggles were going to do to us. My mother hadn't opened her mouth since my father had been killed; she was only a shadow of herself. All around me, my family was begging me and urging me to do something. I couldn't do anything; there were too many people around me. I felt like I was being overwhelmed. Then, after days of travel, the train stopped.
The small shapes around the fire began a furious tango before coming together to form a compact mass. Silhouettes of dogs and a train silhouetted around Medusa like long shadows cast by a searchlight.
"We heard the dogs first. Then, when they opened, the sun was high, and I thought I was dying. Then I thought I saw hell. It was the camps. Hundreds of thousands of dying people I felt around me. At that time, my mother also woke up. She took my hand and told me to do whatever she told me. She had seen the future, and she knew we would get through it. When the muggles took us out, they wanted to separate us into two different lines. My mother was old, and they wanted to send her to the showers with many of us. They hit us several times with their boots, and then she started speaking in English. She said that I spoke a little English too and that we could be of help. At that time, they stopped beating us and took us apart. They sent half our clan into the showers right in front of us. Showers were death, and I didn't know it then. Then muggles took us and other prisoners, shaved us, and tattooed our numbers. That was what we were: numbers.
Her mother showed her the crook of her arm and rolled up her sleeve. He was a virgin, and when he was exposed too much to the shade, the mark of darkness appeared slightly drawn by the reliefs dug on his skin.
"Your dad took that tattoo off as a wedding present. He gave me another one afterwards. If he has a biting irony, I don't take away from him a certain taste for aesthetics. A quality in your father, his perfectionism."
Medusa looked pitifully at the inside of her arm, from which emerged the mark slightly illuminated by the flames; no one could dismiss the beauty of the inking. Every time she thought about it, she wanted to scratch her own tattoo but restrained herself.
"I forgot most of the numbers in that tattoo, except one, 23, because I was sent there when I was twenty-three. I thought this coincidence would bring me luck, and I clung to it. Your grandmother and I were sent to a Muggle doctor's laboratory as assistants. This one did not treat and was interested in the gipsies for his experiments. In the Roma, we often had twins, which intrigued the muggles who wanted to know what we had of different races and if they too could have twins of their race. They were experimenting on children, and we weren't doing anything. I felt evil around me. Evil in its purest form was no longer my little illusions and the little sores of children. It was such a blinding pain that I still think I'd gouge out my eyes from witnessing it.
The shadows had stopped dancing around them. The calm of the woods inspired Medusa, with a sort of tranquilly mixed with fear. All that remained was the slow sound of running water around her, and then the hoot of an owl was heard in the distance.
"I was only a shadow of myself. We ate nothing; mine sacrificed themselves for me to eat, hoping that I would get them out of here. After a while, the prayers fade and become orders, then insults. We were in autumn, and the sun was still high. I wasn't as dark as now; I could stay in the light then, but I was very weakened. Mother thought winter would be the best time for us to run away. She was right. On moldivus day, what muggles call Christmas, one of the camp Kommanders brought many of our clan to his house. He was organising a party for Christmas Eve and wanted gipsies to liven up his evening by playing and dancing. We were put on a stage with instruments and ridiculous clothes to dance.
"We were a distraction to those well-dressed Muggles who were gorging themselves watching us. At this scene, rage and anger filled me and never really deserted me again. I looked at my mother and started dancing. The more we played and the more I danced, the more I had them under my control. When they were dead drunk with their wives, I approached them. At that time, I didn't know I was capable of that. I gulped them down in the dark, all of them, one by one, to feed myself until I couldn't swallow anything. I didn't even realise that I was swallowing up everyone around me; I no longer made a difference. Some of my cousins were able to escape, and the only person left alive in that house was my terrified mother. I took her by the hand, and we ran away."
Her mother had been silent for a while. She was humming the words of a curious song with a melancholy air. One word recurred regularly in this kind of low-pitched song lament.
"After that, we hid like all Romanis, even after the war, we stayed hidden. No one wanted to approach us among the Roma anymore because we had done the unthinkable by massacring our own people. We named things. Porajmos. Porajmos means to devour, and that's how we called the camps. We were devoured by emptiness because nothing existed. We have been thrown out of the universe, locked up, and swallowed up by the camps and by history because no one is telling that story. Coming out of there, I wanted to let myself be swallowed up in my turn, just like my mother. We didn't feel like anything anymore, and slowly, I was destroying what was left of her. I only had her around me…during the years we hid, I drove her completely mad. We had gotten out of it; she had seen well how I would destroy her."
Her mother stopped and looked at her, leaning slightly over the fire. The shadows drawn by her face danced around her expression lines, making her look even more enigmatic.
"When your father arrived, yes, in a way, it was a blessing. After living in hell, walking with a demon is easy. He made things easier and even made me very happy."
Glancing at her, Medusa knew she wasn't lying. Imagining her parents happy together gave her a mixed feeling because they spoke to each other rarely and often to argue. When they agreed together, it was to hurt and offend others.
"He saw this potential in me—this thing that kept me alive, my magic. That's what my family ended up rejecting—what my mother had always been afraid, but he saw as beautiful in me. I killed dozens of people for him, and each person I gobbled up made me stronger. We travelled the world together, destroying everything behind us. It was fun and filled my hunger for months. But the months quickly turned into weeks, then days. The void is never really filled."
She turned her head for a moment before continuing.
"Your father didn't want me to talk to you about that or even about my culture. But once again, I will disobey him. It's up to you whether you reveal this conversation to him or not. The path I took with your father years ago saved me in a way, but it all depends on what you call a life. Darkness has its price to pay and rewards generously, it is true. But it's an endless void, and you walk right into Medusa. Don't let him lead you down that path."
For the first time, his mother gave her a sweet smile. It was so unusual that Medusa didn't know how to react. Gently, her mother's hand brushed her over the flames, her fingers a warm brush that seemed to suck some of her energy. When she noticed it, her mother pushed her hand away with a grimace, wrinkling the edges of her long nose like a bird's beak.
"I feel your pain, and if I want to eat you for it, I know it has to stop or he'll take advantage of it. You know, they say we gipsies hit the road with a question and only stop when we find the answer. Your father was not my answer. He won't be the answer for you either; he will destroy you, as he always does. Your father has self-destructive impulses, and his little scar is proof of that. If the Obscurial did this to him, I like the kid more and more," she cackled. "It makes your dad look like a bad boy, don't you think?"
If Medusa had only crossed her father a little, she would have noticed the fine black scar that now crossed his cheek as if one of the blood vessels under his skin had burst. No one at Hogwarts had dared to comment on that scar in front of him, and Medusa was not going to be an exception.
"So, what am I supposed to do?"
"The pain won't go away," her mother whispered. "That's why I keep gobbling. Once that void is there, it clings to you; that's how it is. I realised it too late, I think. Now you have to choose whether to look at him or not. It's up to you to make that choice. It's up to you to see where to look now."
Medusa thought of Salazar and the silence between them since she had admitted not wanting to fight anymore. Her little brother had gone through so much this year between the deaths of his centaur friend, Charm, and Eddy; he was probably as unhappy as she was in her corner. Medusa hadn't managed to take a step towards him; it was beyond her strength, just like for Eddy. The pain she felt thinking of them could have engulfed her as well as her mother.
"I chose to look towards your father; he chose to look towards the past."
"What do you mean?" stammered Medusa.
"There are things I can't reveal to you, but the answer is in his Codex. This is where the answer lies."
She froze, fearing she had said too much, surveying the surroundings with a worried look. Medusa knew the Slytherin Codex practically by heart and didn't understand where she was going with this.
"Nagini and I will soon be leaving the country for a while to search for the Dumbledore brothers. The two are on the run, and Nagini has an idea of their hiding place in France. You are going to go back to Hogwarts for a while with your father. Meanwhile, keep protecting your brother and doing your little crafts with your necklace. Let your father come to you."
Medusa froze because her father also knew about the opal necklace, and she wondered to what extent this part of their conversation could harm her now.
Her mother, however, gave her a wink as they heard footsteps behind them. From two gnarled trunks and from the mists emerged a plump, terrified little man. When he saw the light of their fire, his fear gave way to joy.
"Oh, what a joy to finally see a human face! I've been wandering around here for hours. Can you help me get out of this forest?"
Medusa's mother gave him a tender smile, and the little man froze in fear. He analysed the clothes of the two witches and the magic fire burning between them and understood that he did not have to do with saviours, quite the contrary.
"See you soon, Medusa. My dinner is served."
Medusa did not have to be told twice. She carried the jar away with the magical fire, turning her back on the petrified muggle in the slime of the swamp. She heard her mother get up, the little man shout, and then there was silence.
.
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(1) Porajmos: Literally, the Great Devourer, or to devour, is the term used to speak of the Romani genocide. In Romani intellectual and academic circles, the term Samudaripen (death of all) is sometimes preferred.
Declared impure as soon as Hitler came to power because of their Indian ancestry, the Romanis were persecuted for not representing their idea of the good "Aryan", namely an 'Indo-European descendant with blond hair, blue eyes, and white face'. Sordid experiments were also carried out in this community, in particular on twin children. During the Nazi persecutions, it is estimated that between 500,000 and 1 million Romani were sent to the gas chambers. This little-known genocide took a long time to be accepted and recognised as such.
In France, Manouchs were not systematically sent to death camps, unlike Jews, but were held captive in "education" camps by the Vichy regime. The conditions there were terrible, and it is still a deep trauma for the survivors of these camps. It should be noted that the last Romanis liberated from French "education" camps were released in 1946, more than a year after the end of the war.
For more information: Tony Gatlif's film Liberté talks about the history of the French camps and can be easily found on YouTube.