And another chapter arrives. I'm not sure how pleased I am with this one - it does feel a bit bland to me, even now - but I hope the several edits I've made to the writing style and content were for the better.
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Read, review, and feel free to point out any errors/inconsistencies.
The next chapter will be published the coming Saturday.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Riddle's Plight
II. Emily Marvolo Riddle
Harry stared curiously at the diary that sat before him.
Several days had passed since the dreadful dinner party. Uncle Vernon had already paid a man to fit bars on Harry's window. He himself attached a cat-flap to the bedroom door so that small amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day. Harry was allowed to use the bathroom in the morning and evening - but aside from that, he was locked in his room around the clock. That was mostly fine with him, at least for now. He could use Emily's notebook more freely now, and he could learn more about this.
Harry picked up the note that sat atop the diary, rereading it for the fourth time.
'I have gone to great lengths to gift you this, although I believe it was worth it. I hope you find it as enchanting as I think you will.
Wishing you a happy birthday,
Emily'
Harry let the parchment fall from his grasp, watching as it curved through the air before landing on the edge of his desk.
Emily. Like the girl who owned the notebook.
Maybe they were the same. The diary seemed about as old as the notebook did, but it still could be nothing more than a coincidence. Emily was a very common name.
But why would someone named Emily bother to send me anything at all?
"E. M. Riddle." whispered Harry, reading the name on the diary's cover as he traced it with his finger. He idly pushed one of his few remaining ink cartridges to the side as he opened the diary. The book was completely blank.
"Emily M. Riddle . . ."
Harry sighed, closing the diary and pushing it to the corner of his desk.
-(xXx)-
Harry sat, staring at the diary in wonder.
Truthfully, it had been an accident. He hadn't at all meant to spill ink on the strange book - he had simply meant to make room on the table for his lunch. Not that his lunch was a particularly large meal, of course - Aunt Petunia wasn't that generous - but the table was rather small.
Harry shook his head, rereading the words that had suddenly formed upon the yellowing page.
"Hello. My name is Emily Riddle. Who are you?"
The words slowly wilted away. Harry stared curiously at the place they had been, a hand reaching for the quill at his side.
It could be cursed. Professor Flitwick mentioned something about objects that can think for themselves - they've usually got all sorts of nasty enchantments.
Harry frowned, glancing at the book again. His fingers wrapped around the quill, and he dipped it in ink before lowering it to the diary's surface.
"My name is Harry Potter."
The words faded again. Harry watched uncertainly as the book stayed as blank as ever. After what felt like an eternity, the diary replied. Bottled black ink formed upon the yellowing pages in remarkably neat handwriting.
"Harry . . . I've always liked that name. It's one I haven't heard in a very long time."
"You can hear things?" Harry dipped his quill in ink, straightening up, "But aren't you a diary?"
He waited curiously for Riddle's reply. It was much faster this time.
"I am a memory of my sixteen year old self, preserved within this diary for fifty years."
"But you're still alive then?" inquired Harry.
"I would assume so, yes."
Harry sank into his chair, the quill falling from his hand.
It could be the same Emily. It has to be.
His chair creaked as he leaned forward, scrawling the question down as quickly as he could.
"You know of my notebook?" Emily's words appeared at once, the letters long, neat and thin, "How did you come across it?"
"At a bookstore." Harry wrote quickly. Droplets of ink marred his desk, but he paid it no mind, "Flourish and Blotts. It was in an old box. The manager said it belonged to one of the retired teachers, I think."
The book went blank again, and Harry waited for the girl within the diary to reply.
"I didn't expect anyone would ever find it. I hope you found it interesting?"
"I did." admitted Harry earnestly, "It helped me a lot."
"That is good to hear." wrote Emily, "But that doesn't explain how you received this diary."
Harry paused, thinking before dipping his quill in ink and writing once more.
"You gave it to me, I think. It was a birthday present. The note said it was given to me by someone named Emily."
The diary took much longer to reply. When it did, only three words appeared upon its surface.
"Happy birthday, Harry."
-(xXx)-
"Why do you spend so much time speaking to me?"
Harry watched in silence as the words slowly faded from the surface of the diary. It was the third of August, the day slowly turning to night. Harry had just finished his half of the supper Aunt Petunia had set for him, the other half being shared with Hedwig. There had not been much on the plate; Harry somehow felt hungrier now than he had before.
Ignoring the groans of his stomach, Harry watched as inky black words replaced the ones that came before.
"Not that I'm complaining, of course - I'm quite flattered. I just would have thought you'd have wanted to learn more about magic."
Harry quickly picked up his battered quill, dipped it in another ink cartridge and wrote back.
"I do." he scrawled out, "I just can't."
"Why?"
"It's complicated, I guess." wrote Harry uncertainly.
"Go on. It seems like you've got all the time in the world. I have, too."
Harry chuckled, dipping his quill again.
"It's my relatives. They've locked up all my belongings. They've locked me up too, come to think of it. I'm only allowed to leave my room for bathroom breaks in the mornings and evenings. The only things I have in my room are your notebook and this. I've been using your notebook as often as possible." Harry paused, leaning back in his chair, "It's just a bit hard to do much without my wand. You hadn't written anything in the wandless magic section of your notes, and my wand is locked up in the cupboard downstairs."
His words slowly faded from view. Harry watched in silence as a single sentence replaced them.
"I could teach you, if you want?"
His chair creaked as he scampered forward at once, hastily grabbing his quill and shoving it back into the ink cartridge. Harry could hear his heart thumping loudly in his chest as he quickly jotted down a reply.
"Would you really?"
"Of course I would." replied Emily, her words seemingly laced with amusement, "You're learning from my own notes, this isn't much of a step up. Just the words of a long forgotten diary."
Harry rose to his feet, breathing heavily. A soft, happy laugh escaped his lips, and he lowered his quill to the diary's yellowing pages.
"I don't know much about wandless magic." he wrote, "I'm able to do a bit of levitation, but that's about it."
"That should be fine." assured Riddle, "We can go over the more intricate aspects of wandless magic at a later date. For now, our list of things to do is much less lengthy."
Harry waited, watching as the inky words faded away. Just as he was about to reply, more words had formed.
"You must promise me, however, that what I tell you will remain with you and you alone. I would prefer my numerous secrets remained so."
"I promise." Harry's words covered the length of the diary, "I wouldn't tell anybody."
There's also the fact that I haven't got anyone to tell.
Harry pushed the thought aside, turning his attention back to the diary. For a moment, he felt a slight burning sensation in his scar. He winced, a hand reaching upwards at once. Before it could reach his forehead, however, the pain had vanished. Shaking his head, Harry quickly read Emily's reply.
"Good." wrote Emily, "We can begin, in that case. Wandless magic, as you may have realised by now, is vastly more difficult than wanded magic. As such, I'll only be teaching you one very specific spell for now."
"What's that?" inquired Harry curiously. He could almost feel Emily's amusement - he was sure he could feel it. He watched as the strange girl replied, her neat handwriting appearing as inky black words upon the first of many yellowing pages.
"The Unlocking Charm."
-(xXx)-
"It isn't working." wrote Harry in annoyance, his words heavy with ink.
More than a week had passed since Emily had agreed to help him. It was far from an exciting process, learning wandless magic. Harry had learnt that a year ago, of course - he knew very well just how frustrating using magic without a wand could be.
Still, he had gone nearly a year without struggling - he had clearly forgotten the feeling.
He certainly remembered now.
It wasn't just that it seemed borderline impossible - although that was definitely a sizable factor. No, it was the fact that Harry could feel the magic within him, flowing gently across the surface of his skin like a stream of water sliding down the side of a hill. He could feel it around him, he could feel it in the air -
But it isn't working.
Harry frowned, his eye falling upon Emily's notebook. It sat at the top of his drawer on the other side of the room. He raised a hand, his fingers curling. The notebook soared through the air, roughly crashing into the palm of his hand.
This doesn't make sense.
The diary flickered, and Harry tossed the notebook aside.
"Then take a break." advised Emily, "You need to mean it - if you are not sufficiently focused, then we are wasting time. Our time would be better spent simply talking, or perhaps brushing up on theory - whichever you would prefer."
"Talking." Harry quickly decided, "I've been practicing for hours, I think I'm getting a migraine."
"In that case, feel free to tell me about yourself. I'm curious as to why I've gifted you my diary."
"You don't already know?" asked Harry curiously.
"No, I'm afraid I don't." admitted Emily, "Although I have a theory."
Harry waited for the diary to continue, but Emily seemed to have said all she wished to share. Picking up his quill, Harry began to write.
"My life . . . my life hasn't been a very good one." he began, pausing, "My parents died when I was a year old. They were killed by the most powerful witch in all of history - Lady Voldemort."
Emily did not respond. Dipping his quill in ink, Harry continued.
"She tried to kill me too, Voldemort. But she failed. I survived, and she was defeated. I was sent to live with my muggle relatives. Until last year, I didn't even know that the wizarding world existed.
"I think I always knew. Strange things just kept happening - things shrinking, the time when I appeared on the roof, my trip to the zoo last year. I always thought I was just seeing things. But last year, on my birthday, I learnt it was all real."
Harry leaned back slightly, watching as Emily replied. She wrote slowly, her writing unnaturally neat, even for her.
"Why are you being raised by muggles?" she wrote curiously, "If you defeated the most powerful witch in history, why were you not hailed as a hero?"
"I am." Harry replied bitterly, "I'm known as the boy-who-lived. I'm one of the most well-known wizards alive, I think."
And I don't even get something cool for it. A chocolate frog card would've been nice.
"And the witch?" asked Emily, "What of her?"
Harry hesitated, his fingers wrapping tightly around the quill. Strange, unsettling images flickered through his mind - the same stone room, the same ancient mirror, the same woman with the glowing scarlet eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Harry brought his quill to the diary's surface.
"She lived." Harry paused, taking a deep breath, "Not many people know - just Dumbledore and I, I think. She pretended to be one of my teachers last year. She taught me. She used to give me private lessons too. When we fought at the end of the year, she annihilated me, even in her weak form. She was so powerful."
I need to be that powerful. I have to catch up. I can't, I won't -
Emily did not not respond. Harry felt his quill fall from his grasp, and memories flashed before the eye of his mind. His head tilted to the side, and he forced his eyes shut. He tried to force them aside, but the memories refused to depart, and a small, quiet part of him didn't want them to. Memories turned to visions, visions to nightmares, and then -
"Harry." breathed a familiar voice.
It was her. Back and forth she paced before the Mirror of Erised, her eyes flickering between sapphire and scarlet before they seemingly decided upon the latter.
"Come with me, Harry." whispered Voldemort, her voice almost seductive, "We can both go, together - we'll be like a family."
Harry shook his head, trembling slightly. He inched away from the woman with the scarlet eyes, only to find his back pressed against the cold stone wall of the third-floor corridor. Voldemort inched towards him, shadows drifting towards her like moths of a flame.
"Don't lie to me, Harry." she whispered sadly, her eyes flashing, "I know you want to - I can see it in your eyes -"
Harry gasped. He was back in his room, Emily's diary still sitting before him. She had not responded.
Still breathing heavily, Harry pulled the diary closer to him, dipping his quill in ink.
"Emily," began Harry, "what do you know about Legilimency?"
There was a pause before Emily began to write.
"It is a mind art that allows one to, for lack of a simpler explanation, explore someone's mind as though it were their own."
"Like reading minds?"
"No quite, but I suppose that's a reasonable explanation for a beginner." she replied, "How did you learn of it? You'd have been hard pressed to learn of such magics within the walls of Hogwarts."
"Voldemort." replied Harry simply, his writing slightly more stiff than normal. If Emily noticed, she did not voice her thoughts, "She said I have a talent for it."
"We'll go over it then." Emily decided, "Both Legilimency and Occlumency - the latter is, once more putting it simply, that art of protecting one's mind against the former, amongst many other things. I doubt I will be able to help much, but you should be able to, at the very least, gain a decent understanding of the arts."
"Right."
Harry sank into his rickety chair, his breathing still heavy and laboured.
-(xXx)-
Click.
Harry stared at the topmost lock in awe, his entire body shivering with excitement. He had done it, after a fortnight of trying he had finally succeeded -
Harry quickly retrieved the diary, informing Emily of the occurrence at once.
"Excellent." she wrote back quickly, her words washing over Harry like waves, "We can now shift our focus towards what happens next."
It was the twenty-seventh of August. Even through the many bars that lined his window, Harry could see the countless leaves that littered Aunt Petunia's perfect garden. Harry was almost glad he was locked away - had it been any other year, he would likely be raking the leaves by now.
And Dudley would be standing off to the side, waiting to knock the pile over right after I've finished.
Sighing, Harry jotted down a quick response.
"It'll have to be the day before term starts, right?"
"Correct." agreed Emily, "I'm afraid you'll have to Owl Order your new textbooks and equipment once you get to Hogwarts."
"That's fine, I'll be able to avoid the crowd that way."
"There is also the issue of actually getting to King's Cross." noted Riddle, "You could use the Knight Bus, of course, but as the boy-who-lived you would likely be recognised."
"What's the Knight Bus?" inquired Harry curiously, spilling a drop of ink as he wrote.
"A method of wizarding travel. Not particularly pleasant. Imagine being driven around Britain in a bus several times faster than the quickest of brooms."
Harry winced at the description.
"I think I'll pass on that one." he decided, "I can walk, it shouldn't be too bad. We don't live that far away, anyway."
"That's one problem solved, in that case." wrote Emily, "All you'll have to worry about is finding a place to sleep and making sure you aren't disturbed."
"That isn't a problem either." wrote Harry quickly, "I'll use my Invisibility Cloak."
"Invisibility Cloak? How did you acquire one?"
"It was my father's." revealed Harry, "Dumbledore gave it to me last Christmas."
"Very well." Riddle's words appeared upon the pages in slow, thin strands of ink, "You'd better get back to practicing. It would be awfully underwhelming if you couldn't unlock your door when the time is right."
Harry nodded, closing the diary and setting it aside.
-(xXx)-
Finally, at long last, the night had come. Harry had spent countless hours sprawled upon his bed, waiting in silence for Dudley's snores to dominate the house. It had taken quite some time tonight - clearly he had not finished breaking into the new television set he had received two months prior.
Along with a few dozen other presents.
Harry quietly inched towards the door of his room. It stared back at him, the several padlocks upon it almost taunting him to do something.
Intent. You've got to really want it.
Harry took a deep breath - his neck tilted slightly to the side - and he leaned forward, tapping the first lock with his finger.
Click.
Harry sighed in relief. He edged closer to the other locks, standing on his toes so as to reach them.
Click.
Click.
Harry watched as the second and third padlocks clicked open. He jumped slightly as a sudden creaking noise permeated the room - the door, it seemed, had grown used to remaining closed over the past several months.
Harry leaned forward, his head poking out from his room. Dudley continued to snore peacefully, as did Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Harry carefully tip-toed back into the room, silently picking up the few valuables he possessed.
Emily's notebook, her diary, Hedwig . . .
Harry tucked the two books under his arm before tapping the lock on Hedwig's cage. It clicked open, falling silently upon Harry's bed. Hedwig, watching from within, hooted softly.
"I'll let you out when we're outside." promised Harry. Hedwig hooted quietly in response.
Making sure to skip the penultimate step (which creaked rather loudly at times), Harry made his way down the stairs. The cupboard sat just to the right, its golden handle long having dulled. Harry eyed the matching padlock as he approached it; it too clicked open from a single touch.
This is honestly more tiring than I would've thought.
Harry wiped a drop of sweat from his brow, quietly pulling the cupboard open. As expected, it was filled to the brim with many of his personal belongings. Countless textbooks lay scattered upon the floor, his trunk was shoved haphazardly into the left corner, and his cauldron sat upon the former.
Harry spent a half hour organising his belongings. It too was harder than he ever would have expected, but he didn't mind. At long last, his trunk was neatly packed. The expansion charm within it had been used to the fullest; all his textbooks - along with Emily's notebook and the cauldron - had been placed neatly within. Only Hedwig's cage, the diary, and Harry's wand remained outside.
Harry examined the latter of the three. He hadn't touched it yet - he hadn't touched it in months. He gingerly picked it up, closing his eyes as a rush of euphoria overtook his senses. Heat flared up within his chest, wrapping around him like light on a sunny day. It felt alive - Harry could almost feel it pulsing, pressing against his very being.
I love magic.
Still breathing heavily, Harry made his way out of the house. It was finally starting to dawn upon him what it all meant, a mix of scrambled thoughts fighting to be heard.
I'm going back to Hogwarts, I'm out, I'm going back -
"Here." whispered Harry, opening Hedwig's cage. He sat down on the curb, allowing Hedwig to perch on his lap as he gently ran his fingers through her feathers.
"Fly to Hogwarts, alright?" said Harry softly, "I'll see you tomorrow."
For a moment, Hedwig did nothing, her beady eyes boring into Harry's. The next, she hooted softly, nipping Harry on the ear before flying off into the distance. Harry watched her form fade away as he moved her cage into his trunk.
Clever owl.
Standing up, Harry wrapped his fingers around his wand. He'd have to remember not to raise it too suddenly - accidentally calling the Knight Bus was something he desperately wished to avoid.
Harry sighed quietly. He had a long walk ahead of him, he knew that much - he had seen the oversized map displayed in the nearest subway often enough to know just how long the trip would take.
I'll have to sleep on the Hogwarts Express.
Taking a deep breath, Harry set off for King's Cross.
-(xXx)-
Several hours had passed. It was a tired Harry that sat within the courtyard of an abandoned building opposite King's Cross. Long, thin black poles lined the property, the paint almost completely peeled off. The building looked old, too; the bricks were damp and withered, and the style reminded Harry of the buildings he saw on the History Channel, back when Uncle Vernon used to watch his documentaries on World War II.
You'd have thought they'd tear down a building like this, especially when it's in the middle of London.
The walk, as expected, had been unfathomably dull. Harry had almost found himself wishing to be in Professor Binns' classes instead. At least there would be something to hold his attention, even if that something happened to be Professor Binns' monotonous drone. It only got worse when he finally reached London; adorned in his Invisibility Cloak, Harry had found it rather difficult to avoid the countless muggles loitering around. Even at night, London was filled with life.
Sounds of laughter pressed against his ears, and Harry gently curved the edges of his cloak beneath him before removing the diary. He had, in his haste, forgotten to ask when the barrier to platform Nine and Three Quarters would open. Harry doubted it would remain open during the entire year, but perhaps, if he was lucky, it would be open for the entire day. He quickly scrawled down his question, waiting for a response.
"The entire day, unless something has changed in the past fifty years." replied Emily a moment later, "Are you there now?"
"More or less." Harry wrote back, "I'm sitting in some courtyard. I'm across the street from King's Cross."
"Some courtyard?"
"It's abandoned." Harry glanced up to read the letters formed by the black gates that lined the yard, "Wool's Orphanage, it says so on the gates. It looks old, though - it can't have been used in years."
Emily was taking longer to respond this time. Sighing, Harry tucked the pen (which he had nicked from the downstairs drawer just beside the tele) into his pant pocket.
Placing the diary carefully within the inside of his shirt, Harry picked up his belongings and made his way towards King's Cross.
