Chapter 24 is finally out!
I've been busy as hell due to studies and hospital work, but I managed to finish it during the days of festivity. On top of that, this was quite a tricky chapter to write. As you'll read, here begins a new arc I've been very excited about for a long time.
Hope you all enjoy it!
Scala ad Caelum
Chapter 24: Dear Diary
Ronald Weasley POV
Sunday 9th January 1992 (Slytherin dormitories) - Before launch
Hogwarts came back to life as soon as the students returned from holidays, and even if the peace that came with those weeks of festivities was rather nice, no one could deny that the castle did not feel as it should without all the people roaming its corridors; it just felt empty.
For almost two weeks, day after day, Ron and his friends had been stressing themselves about what to do next in their hunt for the Heir. Their plan was not as successful as they thought it would be. Sure, it turned out Malfoy was not the bastard they were looking for, but now, everyone was back in the castle, and the attacks could resume that very same night. That fact, along with not having any idea of what to do next, had been the main culprits of his sleepless night.
By the time he woke up, it was almost lunchtime. "I can't believe we are going to have Aurors patrolling the school now," a voice echoed in the bedroom.
"Well, it means Dumbledore is up shit creek without a paddle," another boy pointed out, not even trying to hide his mirth.
Can you shut up for a minute? I'm trying to sleep here, the redhead cursed in his mind, covering his ears with the pillow. However, a few seconds after it, his brain acknowledged the information. Wait, did he just say Aurors? Practically jumping out of the bed, Ron opened the curtains of his bedpost rather violently. "What did you say?" He asked the two talking voices, who turned out to be Blaise and Nott.
The answer came in the form of a shoe thrown to his face, courtesy of the weedy boy. "What the hell?" Nott cursed. "Is that you, Weasley?"
"Who the hell is going to be if not me, you moron," Ron replied as he sat up once again, trying to ignore the pain in his forehead. "Honestly, not only did you wake me up, but you even hit me with a freaking shoe right in the face without even sparing a glance in my direction. We've shared a bedroom for more than a year! Who else is gonna be here!"
"Did you just wake up?" Nott asked, completely ignoring the rambling.
"Really?" Blaise snorted, raising a brow at the redhead.
"Eh, what's with that look? I had a rough night."
It had not been his best wake-up, but Ron ignored his anger and tried to cool off. After all, there was something he needed to know. "You said something about Aurors," he started, getting up from the bed. "What about it?"
"It seems the Headmaster and the Board of Governors have approved the presence of Aurors in the castle," Blaise answered as he got some books out of his brand-new vault. "Because of the Heir and the attacks, that's it. I don't know if that will be enough to stop the whole thing, but I guess muggle-borns will feel safer now."
"I don't think the Heir of Slytherin will be intimidated because of some third-rate Aurors," Nott snorted. "But whatever, if it makes things more interesting here, it works for me. Damn, now that I think about it, those Aurors might take part in the next dueling club as teachers… Mhm, that could be interesting enough," those last words were practically a self-conversation as he got out of the room. It had been a year and a half since Ron met the lanky boy, but still, he always found a way to freak the redhead out with his strange behavior.
"Happy New Year, I guess," Blaise huffed as he observed the closing door.
"Trust me, you ain't telling me anything new," Ron shook his head after a shiver went down his spine. There were plenty of duels with Nott to remember, but none of them had happy memories in them. "Whatever, how were your holidays?"
"Pretty boring, to be honest. I spent the whole Christmas in Italy with my maternal family. Got loads of time to spare and nothing to do with it, so I'm kind of happy to be back."
"Oh, come on," the redhead smirked. "You don't have to be so shy. I know you've missed me."
Blaise—as he always did when Tracey or he teased him—completely ignored the remark and kept getting things out of his vault. "Yep, Happy New Year, indeed," Ron laughed, just before getting interrupted by a pretty decent roar, courtesy of his stomach. "Merlin," he whistled. "That's what missing breakfast does to you."
In no time at all, the redhead was all dressed and ready to eat a very generous amount of food. The two boys made their way to the Great Hall in silence, the cold of the dungeons hitting them as soon as they stepped out of the common room. "Shouldn't we wait for Daphne and Tracey?" Ron asked as he tightened the scarf around his neck. It was of very elegant silver and even warmer than it looked from the outside, but most importantly, it was handmade by his mother; that year, scarfs had replaced the classical sweaters, but the big 'R' sewed with a green thread remained the same.
"They should already be there," Blaise answered. "I took my time talking with Nott before getting to the bedroom. Besides, Daphne needs to be punctual even for launch."
As they went up through the castle, the temperature got warmer. It was far from being nice, but it wasn't at that point of 'my balls are about to freeze the moment I stay still,' so it was a win for Ron's book. "They haven't taken off Christmas decorations yet," the redhead pointed out as they hopped onto a moving staircase; it wasn't the renowned one, but it also loved to make students be late for class.
"What's wrong with Christmas' spirit?" A voice said from behind them.
When he turned around, Ron found a tall man with short, brown and curly hair smiling at them. Maybe it was because of his very long nose, but he looked familiar. Then, the redhead realized about his dark-blue robes and the logo of the Ministry sewed on the left chest: that young man was an Auror.
"It looks weird," Blaise answered him with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Maybe, but if it helps to cheer some students up, welcome be them," the Auror hummed.
The three of them remained in silence for some seconds, waiting for the staircase to reach its destination. "Do I know you from something?" Ron asked the older man. "Your face looks familiar, sir."
"Don't call me sir," he groaned. "I'm just twenty-two years old. Anyhow, just from your looks, I'd bet my launch that you are a Weasley, right?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know if you were there, but this summer, during one of Lockhart's events in Diagon Alley, I stopped a fight between your father and Lucius Malfoy. That must be the reason."
"Oh, it's true," Ron muttered, remembering the eventful day. "There was a blond girl with you that day, wasn't it? Actually, she was the one to meddle in, if I recall well enough."
"That is a little detail of no importance," the Auror dismissed the comment. "Jeez, everyone remembers Jessie but forgets about me. Anyhow, I was there fulfilling my duty, and that is the only important thing."
He seems to be a good bloke, but he is weird, Ron thought as he gripped the handrail with force; the staircase had reached its corridor, and obviously, the impact wasn't soft. Eh, not everyone here is made of stone, be more careful! Bloody staircase.
"Damn, if there is something I haven't missed in these three years after graduating it's this shite," the Auror cursed, making his way upwards through another staircase. "Well, this is goodbye, little cobras," he waved at them as he walked forward, just to turn around after a few steps. "Ah, before you reach the Great Hall, if you see some old dude with grumpy looks, don't talk with him. He might be an Auror, but he hates children!"
"I hate talkative people," Blaise groaned once the young man was far enough. "That guy gave me a headache… On top of it, I have yet to hear Daphne and you arguing like there was no tomorrow… Great, this day looks fantastic."
Yeah, I've also missed you, bloody bastard. In the end—as it usually happened—the black boy turned out to be right. It did not matter whether the conversation started in good or bad terms, Daphne Greengrass always managed to rile him up. "So, are you still keen on finding the Heir?" The blonde asked after finishing her food. She had left the words hanging in the air, but it was enough to make the redhead look at her with a raised brow; even if she did not return the said gaze.
"Of course," Ron answered. "As far as I know, the Heir has yet to be caught. Besides, there were no attacks during holidays, and that means the bastard has to be one of the students who went home for Christmas. Now, more than never, it's time to have eyes everywhere."
"But there are Aurors here now," Daphne argued back.
"So?" Ron replied. He was starting to dislike where the conversation was going.
"You don't need to put yourself in danger anymore, just let adults handle this," she sighed, her gaze fixed on the dessert. "I know you have some dangerous plan related to that potion Granger wanted to make, but I think the five of you should drop it. I don't want to see any of you petrified… or something worse."
For a moment, Ron was left speechless. It was not every day when Daphne talked so openly about her feelings or thoughts. However, the girl was asking for impossible things. "I can't do that," Ron sighed. It had been a nice meal, but the exhaustion of his sleepless night came back at him out of a sudden. "I can promise you that I will be careful, but I won't stand aside until that fucker is under arrest."
"I'll make sure that nothing happens to him!" Tracey piped in, but this time, not even her humour could break the ice.
Ron stabbed an innocent sausage as Blaise let an exasperated sigh out. 'I knew this was coming,' it practically exclaimed. Well, at least, there had been no shouting this time; just a very uncomfortable silence. The boy knew she was a bit scared about the whole mess—hell, she even admitted it—both for her sake and his. Maybe, that was proof enough about how she had changed since the first year, when a glance over the shoulder was the only interaction the girl had to acknowledge others; in fact, Ron was included in that group for a few months.
But it was not enough for the redhead. Why couldn't Blaise and Daphne worry about the wellbeing of innocent people who were being attacked just because of the 'purity' of their blood? He knew they weren't bad persons; they had proven that to him through an entire year. Yet, their privileged status was still preventing them from acting against unfairness.
Daphne, in theory, was one of the students with the lowest chances of being attacked; if the Heir did not change his way of operating, of course. That bastard was not good on the head, that was a given. But even if Ron thought that no person could trust a crazy bastard, the pureblood students kept walking around like the Chamber and the attacks did not exist.
It angered him to see how his friends, even after a year and a half of befriending him, could even look at him eye to eye and tell the redhead that they could not help him because they were safe thanks to their blood.
Still, if there was something he had learned since he met Gerd, it was that each person had a fair share of experiences and beliefs that defined the way they are or behave. Hell, his former rat, Pettigrew, had been a Gryffindor since the start, and look at him, on the run after the world learned about how he betrayed his best friends. If a man like him, thanks to how cowardly he was, changed so much over time, maybe, it still was possible for Blaise and Daphne to change a bit for the better.
It was at that moment when some words from his grandfather came to his mind. "We, Weasleys, have always hammered into our kids' heads how important it is to fight for a better world for everyone," Septimus Weasley once said. "A person doesn't need to be super strong to do that, nor does he need to change the world. Worrying about others, trying to help them if they have tough problems, sharing a hot meal during a bad moment… Those little actions are enough. However, not everyone is strong enough to do that; plenty of people, in fact. Still, it's also our duty to show them the good way just with the force of our good actions. That is what being a Weasley means, Ronald."
Why those words were being replayed on his brain was something he did not know, but it worked to cool him off. "Pass me that puddin, Daphne," the redhead sighed, surprising his three friends. The blonde handed him the dessert as if she was feeding a very dangerous animal. Bloody hell, was it so rare for him to think twice before talking? "Don't look at me like that," he said, sending them an accusatory glance. "Sometimes, I really hate you guys, really."
Tracey's snickering replaced the tense silence, and even Daphne let out an incredulous smile. "Man, that was unexpected," Blaise commented as he shook his head. "What is next? Lockhart giving us a good class?"
Well, for whatever reason, that last wish did not happen the next day. "There I found myself, trying to protect those defenceless villagers from Tibet," Lockhart went on. His tale had started as soon as the class began, and so far, Ron did not know for how long the man had been going at it. "Those monsters, some of the tallest yetis I've ever seen, started to swarm me, but do you think that I lost the calm for a single instant? Hell no! My wand moved in a blur, a curse over here, another spell over there…"
A very loud yawn deafened the rambling, but the Professor was so immersed in it—probably, because Parkinson was looking at him with admiration from the first row—that he did not mind it. "One after the other, those creatures fell under my rain of curses," he continued, his hands gesticulating in a wild way. "But then, I heard a terrifying scream; someone needed my help. I turned around as fast as lightning, and only thanks to my speed I could save a poor child. However, due to that, a yeti was about to tear me apart with its monstrous claws… Does anyone know what I did to save my life?"
For a few seconds, no one answered. Until Malfoy, among all people, raised his hand. "You pushed its arm away thanks to your incredible mastery of martial arts, Professor," the blond boy answered, as politely as ever.
"That's it, Mr Malfoy!" Lockhart exclaimed as he clapped. "Fifteen points for Slytherin! Keep the rhythm up and you'll become my top student in no time! Tell me, what do you think about the way I defeated a bunch of werewolves with my bare hands in Spain?"
Malfoy answered once again, but this time, the redhead was not going to listen. "What the hell, mate," he groaned in a low voice. "I can't believe that git studied Lockhart's full biography just to fall on good graces with him."
"No one tops Malfoy at arse-licking," Blaise whispered back. "Trust me, I've seen it first-hand for many years…"
The class continued with Lockhart rambling and rambling about how awesome he was. It really saddened the redhead to see how horrible the first two years of Defence had been. Once, it was the subject he looked forward to the most. Now, he spent those hours of class writing the many spells he knew over and over on a notebook in which the cover could be read: 'The Adventures of Barmyloy Lockhart'. Well, that and the many drawings of the said Professor with funny faces; it truly was a blessing that he did not revise the notebooks.
"Do you think we will ever have a decent professor in Defence?" Tracey wondered once they were out of class.
"No idea," Daphne answered. "But I don't really care. Lockhart's exams will be so easy. I'll just have to write the way he defeated all those creatures he talks about in his books while complimenting how awesome he was for some extra points. Even if they are stupidly false, his tales are fun to read, so that's another point in his favour."
"Nah, you can't be serious," Ron snorted. "I can't wait to be cornered by the Monster of Slytherin to show him what I've learned in these two years. How was it? Oh, yeah. I'm gonna hit him with one of those 'Lockhart's triple jumping kicks'." He had mentioned the taboo topic without realizing it, but thankfully, the four of them just acted as if nothing had happened. None of them wanted to argue for the hundredth time about it.
Suddenly, Ginny came out of a corner and bumped into him.
"Gin?" Ron asked, reacting in time to grab his sister before she could fall to the floor. "Are you okay?"
Ginny looked very pale and sweaty, even with the many layers of clothing she looked to be wearing. "Oh, hello, Ron," she greeted back, sounding a bit aloof. "What are you doing here?"
"Coming back from class," he answered, a frown starting to form on his face. "I've asked if you are okay. You really look sick," the red-haired boy placed his lips on her forehead, just as their mother taught them long ago. "Merlin, you got a fever!"
"Oh, yeah," Ginny nodded in affirmation. "I was making my way to the medical wing when I, well, bumped into you. Isn't it funny?"
What the heck? Is she bloody drunk? Ron sent a look to his friends, and they just nodded back at him. Blaise let out a tired sigh before grabbing the redhead's bag, cursing him for how heavy it was as soon as it rested on his back. What a diva. "I'll see you as soon as I'm finished," he let them know. "Come on, Gin. We are going on a trip."
The two siblings remained in silence as they walked through some empty corridor. "Are you drunk or something?" Ron asked out of nowhere. "Your voice gave me the vibes of Charlier's and Bill's when they go out to have a pair of beers and come back at dawn completely wasted."
"What?" Ginny sent him a weird look. "I'm not drunk!" In her favour, she sounded way more awake now. "My head was hurting a bit, and one of my muggle-born friends gave me some medicine muggles used to cool off or something like that. I think I was supposed to crack it in a half, but I swallowed it whole… So yeah, I'm feeling a bit numb here."
"Really?" Ron snorted. "Don't ever tell dad what you just did. We don't want him trying out crazy things at home." Once again, a comfortable silence enveloped them. "How is everything going?" He asked her after a minute or so. "We've barely talked this year."
"Pretty nice, I guess?"
"I've heard the Professors talking wonders about you."
"I'm doing pretty okay in classes," Ginny shrugged it off. "I had help…"
"Who helped you?" Ron asked with curiosity. "Percy? Or some classmate of yours?"
"P-Percy," she quickly answered. "It was Percy. I think we should stop talking, my head is starting to hurt more." Her whitening face backed her words.
The redhead started to hum the hymn of the Chudley Cannons. "Hello there, gingers," some old knight greeted them from his picture. "Do you want to hear the tale of Lord Matheus 'Snaketail' Grahden?" The siblings ignored him, but he kept jumping from one picture to another. "I was once a lanky kid like you two are, but it didn't stop me," some old vampire hit him with a huge paintbrush as the knight stormed past his frame. "That hurt, but it was nothing for Great Matheus!"
They finally stepped into the medical wing's corridor. Lord Matheus the Stupid kept following them, but as soon as he jumped into the picture of some old mediwitch, the knight had to retreat under threat of being stabbed with a syringe. "I swear I'm gonna lose my head someday with all these lunatics around," Ron let out an exasperated sigh.
At the instant the door creaked a bit, Madam Pomfrey almost jumped onto them. "Hello, my sister has a..." the redhead started, but the mediwitch already was checking on Ginny.
"Mhm, she has a fever," Madam Pomfrey muttered, completely ignoring him.
"Ehm, yeah."
"Thank you, Ronnie," Ginny waved at him just before the door was closed in his face.
Damn, talk about crazy people. I know they don't want students to see the petrified people, but bloody hell, it almost broke my nose! He started his walk back to the common room, only stopping for a moment to observe the pestering knight, who was knocked out at the feet of the old mediwitch. "Nice job," the redhead congratulated her with a raised thumb.
By the time he muttered the password of the common room, his legs were about to give up. How many stairs are in this bloody castle? With a quick look, he found his friends sitting at one corner, near one of the fireplaces. "Yo," Ron greeted them as he let himself down on the couch.
"Is your sister okay?" Daphne asked, her hand a blur as the quill scratched a parchment.
"It's just a fever, she will be fine in no time."
"That's good," Tracey hummed. The brunette was playing a game of chess against the white pieces; so far, it did not look good.
"I think you should use your bishops a bit more."
"Right? That's what I said to her, but she didn't want to help me."
"You will never learn if I tell you every play," Daphne stated, her eyes still fixed on the homework.
"Whatever."
Ron let the faint noise of the fireplace and the quill envelop him. It had been a long day of classes after weeks of doing nothing; his body welcomed the rest with open arms. Not even a minute after closing his eyes, the redhead was woken up by a rather strong flick on his forehead. "Wake up, sleepyhead," Daphne smirked down at him. "It's dinner time."
"What?" Ron groaned. He had fallen asleep over his arm, and the bastard was not answering the orders from his mind. Agh, I hate when this shit happens. "Did you really have to flick me so hard?" He asked the blonde, who was done putting the books in her fancy bag. "One can't take a few minutes of sleep anymore, jeez."
"A few minutes?" Daphne snorted. "You were out for more than an hour, idiot. Tracey and Blaise are already on the way, but I needed to finish some remarks on my essay."
"Shite," he cursed, stretching his body quite violently before getting up from the couch. "Auch, that hurt. Wait for me here, okay? I need to drop my bag in the bedroom."
Not waiting for an answer, the boy made his way towards the bedrooms. Man, I wish I could sleep for a bit more time, but I also need to answer the food call… Tough decisions everywhere. He dropped the bag—quite unceremoniously—on the bed. "Come on," the redhead cursed as all his books fell all over the floor with a loud thud.
Ron got on his knees and started to pick the books one by one, placing them back on the bed. It was at that moment that he realized something was out of place. Slytherin second-years had three subjects on Monday, yet, there were four books in front of him. Where did this one come from? He grabbed the smallest one, a black notebook with a leather cover. After a quick scanning through the pages, he noticed there was nothing written on it. Weird. It must be from Blaise, I guess.
Ron dropped the book back on the bed and went to meet Daphne. Food could not wait any longer.
Just before noon, Ron found himself lying on his bed after losing three games of chess in a row against Daphne. To say he was fuming was to put it short, especially, when he thought about her smug smirk when she called checkmate. Come on, last week I destroyed her and I wasn't that much of a sore winner. He turned on his side to look at the circular window on the left side of his bed. Man, how cold must the water be? That thought made him tug from his eiderdown up to his chin.
Something moved around his feet.
When he looked down, the boy found the black notebook from that very afternoon. Oh, it must have been hiding in the covers. From his spot, he could read: 'My diary', with some barely visible letters on top of it. Wait, he smirked. The little book might turn into a mine of galleons. Don't tell me you have a diary, Blaise? How rude of you to not tell us about this hobby of yours.
Ron practically lunged at the notebook.
When he opened it, there, on the first page, a name was written: T. M. Riddle. It was very elegant handwriting, at least, if compared with his. Page after page, there was nothing; not even a stupid entry about an essay. Looks like this Riddle guy didn't like his present for Christmas, eh? Can't blame him-
A sentence appeared out of nowhere.
Ron almost threw the diary away. Hell, his head even hit the beadboard due to the surprise. However, the redhead eyed it for a second time. 'Hello there, my name is Tom. Who are you?' There it was, black ink over the white paper. It was not a product of his imagination.
He remembered all the times his father warned them about not messing with things whose brain could not be seen. Not as if it mattered, though. There was an inexplicable curiosity within him. From what could be read on the label, the notebook was from fifty years ago; the same date as the Chamber of Secrets was opened for the first time. Could Mr Riddle's diary know something about it? Probably not, but there was nothing to lose at trying it. Besides, all their ideas ended when Malfoy confessed to not being the Heir.
What evil could a little conversation do? After all, magical diaries were not a rare thing.
'Hello, my name is Ron,' the redhead wrote back after fetching his quill from the bag. 'I thought this was my friend's diary but… well, looks like it isn't.'
'Oh, that is unfortunate,' Riddle wrote back, rather quickly. 'I don't know how my diary fell in your hands, but it's good to have someone to talk with. It's been a long time since it happened.'
'To be honest, I don't know either,' maybe, going with the truth upfront was the best chance to know anything here, or so the redhead thought. 'Listen… Well, more like read… Anyhow, I might sound a bit rude, but there is something very important I need to talk to you about.'
'Tell me. If I can help, I'll do it.'
'Do you happen to know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?'
There was a moment of pause, but the answer did come. 'Sadly, I do know about the Chamber. Back when I was a student, we were told it was a myth; it wasn't. When I was in my fifth year, it was opened for the first time ever. Its monster attacked, and one person died; a muggle-born student. The Professors tried and tried, but the Heir wasn't caught. The Ministry was about to shut the school down, but I caught that bastard. Back then, I was so sure it was him. You see, the boy I'm talking about had the bad habit of befriending dangerous creatures. When I learned that he was hiding something, it was so obvious… However, some years after that, I started to question myself…'
'What do you mean?' His hand moved in a frenzy. This could be the information they needed!
'I think it would be better if you were to see it with your own eyes."
"What?" Ron muttered to the air. "How am I supposed to…?" His words were left hanging in the air as the diary's pages started to blow as if there was a strong wind moving them. In just one second, his head started to hurt, just for the ache to disappear the next instant. When he realized it, the redhead found himself in some corridor in the castle. "What the hell?" With a quick glance, he appreciated the place lacked colour.
Just like the beach where he met Gerd.
"I don't like when places lack colour," Ron whispered. "Bad things always happen."
"Don't worry, this is the safest place you can imagine," a voice echoed around him. It was a silky one, rather soft. It helped him to relax a bit, but it also freaked him out; Riddle's voice sounded too calming to be real. "Just go with the flow of my memories. Then, we'll talk about who I am and what is the purpose of my diary."
The corridor moved, or maybe, it sucked him forward. His feet hit the solid ground after some seconds of dizziness. It looked way different than it was in the present, but Ron would always recognize the Headmaster's office. Only that the person behind the desk wasn't Albus Dumbledore. "The end of Hogwarts is near," the frail-looking wizard sighed. He was old in a bad way, he did not have that aura of wisdom Dumbledore always had. No, that wizard looked about to give up with life.
A sudden knock on the door startled them both. "You can come in," the old man said as he sat down on his chair.
This must be like a Pensieve, the redhead guessed. This man can't see me, and I can't interact with anything. A boy of about sixteen—with a polished prefect badge on his chest—came into the room. This boy should be Riddle. Damn, he is a pretty boy. Not what I expected. The student nodded his head in respect and took a seat in front of the Headmaster, not uttering a single word.
"Mr Riddle, you wanted to see me," the Headmaster pointed out.
"I wanted to talk about… you know what," Riddle muttered. It was the same voice that echoed in the corridors, but it sounded way more fragile; almost scared.
"Oh, I'm sorry, my boy, but there is nothing to talk about," the old man let out a tired sigh. "You can't stay in the castle for the summer. Under normal circumstances, I would have made an exception for you, the brightest student I've ever seen. However, much to my sorrow, the Ministry is thinking about closing the school until the matter of the Chamber is resolved."
"But sir," Riddle insisted. "I can't go back to that orphanage… It is worse than hell… I don't fear the Heir and the monster, sir. I am a half-blood, I should be safe here."
"I'm sorry," the headmaster repeated, sounding way more miserable now. "But this whole thing… I don't see it ending anytime soon. I fear it greatly exceeds my abilities. What happened to Mrs Warren was… No, I don't want to see another student meeting that fate."
Riddle's voice echoed in the office. "Weak," it spat with hatred. However, the student did not open his mouth. It belonged to the diary. "Sir, if the Heir was caught," the younger Riddle started, almost tentatively. "If it all stopped… Would I be able to remain at the school for the summer?"
Those words made the old man raise his gaze. "What do you mean?" He asked. "Mr Riddle, do you happen to know anything about it?"
Out of a sudden, the office started to spiral. Come on, not this shit once again! The next instant, the redhead stood in the middle of a deserted corridor, a wooden door in front of him. Looking around, he realized Riddle was by his side, staring at the door with a furrowed brow. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but he must have thought otherwise because the prefect lowered it as he bit his lip.
Suddenly, a low whisper came from the other side of the door. "Come on, gotta get yeh outta here," the voice almost cried. "Please, c'mon, get in the box." It sounded way too familiar. An idea crossed Ron's mind, but it could not be true… He refused to believe that.
Wand in hand, Riddle stormed into the classroom.
Never in his life had Ron wished to be wrong about something like he was at that exact moment. Much to his horror, his hunch became a reality. There, trying to hide some kind of box behind his huge body, it was Hagrid; a younger version of the giant they knew and liked. "Evening, Rubeus," Riddle greeted with a sharp voice.
"T-Tom?" Hagrid stuttered. "W-What are ye doing here?"
"It's all over," Riddle stated as he moved around the taller boy. "They are gonna close the school if the attacks don't stop. I can't allow that to happen. I swore that I would never go back to that shithole."
"It wasn't him!" Hagrid screamed at the top of his lungs. "You need to believe me!"
"I believe that you never intended for it to kill a person," Riddle said as his wand moved like a whip. From the floor, a dozen rock chains were born to coil themselves around Hagrid's body and limbs. "I told you long ago, Rubeus. Your fascination for unique and dangerous creatures would doom you one day. The girl's parents will be here tomorrow, the least you can do is turn the abomination that killed their daughter."
"He wouldn't! It wasn't him-" One of the chains closed around Hagrid's jaw. No more words came out of his mouth.
"There are creatures that were never meant to be helped," Riddle muttered as he kicked the box away.
With a piercing scream, the biggest spider Ron had ever seen leapt at the perfect. At the speed it moved, the creature was nothing but a tangle of black legs and red eyes. Riddle raised his wand, but it was too late to curse the spider. Instead, he jumped away from it as his wand brightened with a purple gleam.
"No!" Hagrid screamed murder as he tackled the older boy. Somehow, he managed to free himself from the chains.
Ron ignored them to send a horrified glance at the monstrous spider that ran away from them. What the hell was that thing? The scene whirled and the redhead found himself back in his bed, with the diary on his trembling hands.
'That is the story of how I saved the school,' Riddle wrote. For a moment, Ron swore he also heard the boy's voice in his mind. 'However, it wasn't the story of how I captured the Heir.'
"What do you mean?" Ron muttered to the air.
'Back then, I was so sure that it was Hagrid and his monster the ones to blame for the attacks, but I realized my mistake after a few years,' there was a sudden pause before the words kept appearing in the diary. 'I came to the conclusion that the Heir manipulated us all to find a person to blame for his acts. After killing Warren, the bastard wanted the easy way out. Maybe, because his objective had already been fulfilled, or perhaps because he was scared of his own deeds.'
'That is the reason why I created this diary,' Riddle went on. 'I could not live with my mistake. I considered myself to be a saviour when I was nothing but a foolish kid. Hell, I even ruined Rubeus' life. Because of that, I poured all my memories into this diary, hoping that one day, if the Heir were to come back, I could help the muggle-born students somehow… Unlike when it happened the first time.'
'I don't know where my older self is right now, or even if he is alive. Maybe he was killed by the Heir too, but I don't care. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, and I will help you, Ronald Weasley, to hunt the Heir or the person who opened the Chamber in your time.'
No more words were written after that.
To say he did not sleep that night was to put it short; really, really short.
How the hell did that diary end up in his power? Why the hell could it show him memories from fifty years ago? Those were the questions that had swarmed his mind for the entire night, and now, having breakfast as if nothing had happened at all, his body was cursing him for the lack of sleep.
"You look disheveled," Blaise pointed out after taking a sip of juice.
"Wow, you are a genius," Ron grunted back. Even bacon and eggs could not save his bad mood.
"First rule of the Code of Friendship," Tracey piped in. "Do not ever talk to a friend first thing in the morning if he looks like Ron does." Just like that, the four children ended their food in silence.
It was going to be a long day of classes, especially since the only thing in his mind was the diary. He had so many questions for Riddle to answer… So many doubts about the memories that he showed him yesterday… There was no time to waste in silly classes, not when the key to capturing the Heir could be on his hands; much less in a stupid class of Lockhart.
"Well, my talented students, it greatly saddens me to announce that Professor Snape suffered an accident this holiday," Lockhart started, his bright clothes practically screaming in the gloominess of the dungeons. "It wasn't a grave incident, or so I think. Anyhow, the important matter here is that I will be his substitute for a few days! I know you are incredibly happy and excited, but hear me out, you have to promise me that once Professor Snape is back, no one will miss me a lot. I'm a master of the art of potions, but Severus is quite good at it too!"
"I can't believe this is happening," Blaise muttered as the Professor kept rambling. "Do you think he is serious about Professor Snape?"
"I don't think he is lying to us," Ron answered. "Although I can't really imagine what kind of accident he's suffered. I mean, even death itself would coward if Snape sent it one of his dark looks."
"Like the one he sent you when you fought with Malfoy?"
"Shut up. I almost shit my bloody pants that day…"
Finally, after wasting the entire morning brewing a Hair-repairing Potion and more boring classes, the redhead opened the diary once again. 'Riddle? Are you there? I need to talk with you about the Chamber and everything. Things ended a bit abruptly yesterday.' Now, it was time to wait for the answer.
It came after a few seconds. 'Hello, Ronald, I'm here. Sorry about yesterday, but it pained me to remember how stupid I was back then. I needed a bit of time to think about what to do next, but, for that, I will need your help. Can you tell me about the situation you are in?'
'Okay, summing it up, there have been three attacks so far; one on a cat, and the other two on muggle-born students. They all got petrified.'
'Wait a moment, did you just say they were petrified?'
"Yeah, were the attacks back in your time different?'
'Yeah, there were no petrifications, and it was just one attack. People thought otherwise, but actually, most of the students who ended up in the medical wing were assaulted by a certain group of supremacists within Slytherin; they used the hysteria caused by the Chamber to have fun at others' expenses, those damned bastards. The Heir just hit once. It ended with Warren's death…"
No petrifications, that was an interesting piece of information indeed. 'I see,' the redhead wrote. 'So far, we've been luckier, but it doesn't mean the Heir won't strike to kill next time. Also, it's been quite a while since the last attack, and I don't know if that's good or bad… Maybe, he has been preparing the monster for the murdering… Agh, I don't bloody know!'
'Breathe, Ronald. Don't be like me and keep a cold mind. We need to protect those muggle-borns.'
'Yeah, you are right. Back to what I wanted to say. We had a plan—a very elaborated one—to discover the identity of the Heir, but it failed. My friends and I had the main suspect: his name is Draco Malfoy, but he wasn't the one. We lost months in that plan, and the only thing we learned was the date of the first time the Chamber was opened and that some student ended up dead.'
'A Malfoy, you say? There was one in my time too, but it wasn't him. They are a bloodline of shady bastards, but they are no Heir of Slytherin.'
"Ron, are you there?" The voice of Blaise came from outside of the curtain. "You've been here, all alone, for hours! The girls were worried and ordered me to check on you as if you were a baby, can you believe it? Anyhow, it's almost dinner time and Daphne wanted to get going. Are you coming?"
Wait, I've been here for hours? The redhead found it pretty strange, but he blamed it on his stress. "Yeah, I need to finish this letter I'm writing and I'll be on the way," he replied. There was no answer, but the closing door announced the boy's departure. 'Well, sorry for the interruption,' Ron wrote in the diary. 'Malfoy is a spineless coward who deserves some slaps on the face, but I never thought he was capable of killing; at least, a part of me was. Was the one from your time like that?'
'No, he was a strong individual; cruel and sadistic, but strong.'
Okay… Those were not the words he was expecting to read; it looked way too respectful. Maybe, it was a product of his tired mind, but just in case, the redhead decided to drop it for the day. 'Riddle, I need to go. Thanks for your time, but my friends are waiting for me to have dinner. We'll talk tomorrow as soon as my classes are finished, okay?'
'Of course, Ronald. Please, be careful.'
'Actually, it was Neville who came up with the theory of the Heir embodying Slytherin's traits, rather than some blood relationship,' Ron wrote. There he was, using the free period to talk with Riddle once again. This time, the redhead told him about all the theories and plans they got to hunt the Heir down. 'Hermione and the rest of us were convinced that it was Malfoy, but he wasn't. That's how we reached the dead end.'
'You five did a pretty good job,' Riddle said. No, he wrote. 'From what you've told me, that muggle-born girl, Hermione, is the group's leader, right?'
'We don't have a leader, the five of us lead the group.'
'That's not true, and you know it. Your friends Tracey and Neville are minions; sure, they do their best to help, but they fall short when compared to the three of you. Harry Potter, despite being so talented and brave, doesn't want to assume power, or so I think after everything you've told me. Now, it is between the girl and you, and I think it should be you the one to assume the lead.'
'Why are we even talking about this?'
'Any group or organization needs a good leader to prosper, otherwise, chaos would prevail. Hermione is a very, very intelligent witch, but brains alone can get you so far. Her plan failed, and it's been weeks since the last time any idea came out of her. She doesn't have the skill to improvise, but you do, Ronald, and I can polish it even more. With my help, we can hunt the Heir for good.'
The conversation was taking an unexpected turn; one he did not like a bit. 'I don't like the way you talk about my friends, Riddle. I'm sorry, but this is goodbye for today. If you come up with any plan, tell me about it tomorrow.'
Ron was about to close the diary when a new sentence caught his eye. 'I know what you are about to do, Ronald. I think you shouldn't do it. Sure, you can tell your friends about me in the future, but let me redeem myself for my mistakes first, I beg you.
The redhead grabbed his quill once again. "How did you know it? I need to tell them about you sooner or later. Friends don't have secrets.'
'That's quite nice, but it also is incredibly innocent on your part. I know you trust them, and that's all I need to trust them, but let's act by ourselves for some time; just the two of us.'
'Why? I reckon it would be better to work all together.'
"Don't you think that if you tell them about me, the girl would ask you—more like demand—to hand her the diary? She thinks her brain is your best weapon to catch the Heir. Hermione doesn't expect others to come up with complicated plans. It was hers the idea to use the polyjuice potion and all of you accepted her orders; we need to do this to get those ingredients; we need to get something from those two boys this way… Can you tell me that I'm wrong?'
The boy took a few seconds to think about it. 'No, I can't.' Hermione always took the lead, that was true. However, the girl usually got the best results with her plans. No, that was not the problem. Could they've relied on her too much? Maybe, if they did not expect her to solve everything with her wits, they could have thought of a better plan to capture the Heir. 'I'm gonna trust you here, at least, until the Heir strikes once again. If our alliance can be the key factor, I'm ready to risk it all. It's not as if we have anything to lose.'
'Thank you, Ronald. This means a lot to me, really.'
Friday came after the eventless week.
The boy tried to make his way through the crowded corridor, trying to reach the Great Hall along with the many students around him. This shit is difficult! The presence of Gerd atop of his head did nothing to ease him; not when he could imagine the roll of her eyes due to his uselessness. I'm trying, I swear!
"I know what you are thinking," the Essentia let out a tired sigh. "Just don't. This is the most important and difficult step in the road to achieve total control of one's magic. It could take you years and it would be normal."
"Easy to say," Ron grunted back as some older student shoved him aside. "Did we really need to do it here? Merlin, this is hell."
Some students sent him a weird look, but the redhead could not care less about it at that moment. "Try to feel the magic around you once you've awakened your own," those had been Gerd's orders. It seemed she had yet to understand what it meant to take things slowly; bloody woman! It had been more than a month since he managed to awaken his own aura; for a few seconds, at least. He still had no idea of how to do those amazing things Gerd talked about, but he was getting more and more comfortable with the sensation.
It just felt right to have magic enveloping every single of his cells.
"Try to feel the magic around you," Gerd said in his ear, now taking a seat on his shoulder. "See that tall boy over there? Focus on him while you keep your aura up. Try to ignore the dozens of students who aren't him."
He tried, really, but it was impossible. With a frustrated grunt, the redhead kicked a door open to get inside a classroom. "Enough for today," he said. "I was about to lose my mind there. I couldn't feel shit but my own magic! It's useless!"
"You couldn't do that two months ago," Gerd pointed out as she walked around his head. "Neither you could awaken your aura for more than five seconds a few weeks ago. You are your worst enemy, Ron."
Should I headbutt the wall or the door? In the end, he took a calming breath; just as Riddle advised him to do yesterday. "Do I need to expand my aura a bit more to feel the magic around me?" Ron asked after a few seconds. "If so, it is completely impossible for me to pull it out right now."
"No, you don't," Gerd replied. "Feeling magic is about mastery, let it be by talent or hard work. You don't even need to keep your aura up, but I think it is the best for your training."
A questioning look made her continue. "If you want to feel every single trace of magic of a certain area—the people, creatures, wards and curses, or even remnants of magic within nature—that's when you expand your aura to cover all the space you want to feel. If not, you use your senses to their fullest. In the future, once your skill grows, you'll walk through these corridors and will be able to feel the magic of the many students around you without even trying; as if you were looking at the world with different eyes. Now, if someone tries to hide their presence from you, that's when you expand your aura to detect them, otherwise, they'll easily deceive you."
"However, it doesn't mean you'll always be able to feel a skilled person just by expanding your aura," the Essentia went on. "Imagine the wizard you are trying to track knows what to do. He would totally conceive his magical aura, in that case, it wouldn't matter if yours was to touch him; you'd feel no magic, as if he was a muggle. Oh, by the way, shutting down your aura will be the next step of the training, but I reckon we'll need a few years to reach that point. Got it?"
"Yeah, thank you," Ron nodded. "I think we should stop for today. I'm feeling quite tired and I'm hungry as hell."
"Have you been feeling well lately?" Gerd asked. "I know that I've been spacing out with more frequency lately, but the bags under your eyes are getting more prominent, Ron. Is everything okay? Is it because of the Chamber?"
"Partly," Ron shrugged it off. "We don't know what to do, that's the reality even if we don't wanna admit it," he confessed in a tired whisper. "We can't just wait for the Heir to attack or pray for him not to do it. It's like the past year all over, Gerd…"
"We won," the Essentia stated with a fierce voice. "We defeated that shadow and saved the Stone. The Heir doesn't know with whom he is messing. We'll show him," she warmly smiled at him. It wasn't much, but hearing those words from her mouth helped him to shove those demons away.
Hell, he even returned the smile!
Day after day they waited, but the Heir did not attack.
Professor Sprout announced that the mandrakes were growing at a very good pace, and that meant the petrified students would be able to wake up in a few months. Maybe it was because of the constant vigilance from the Professors and the Aurors. Well, at least, thanks to the efforts of the two young ones. "I can't still believe I gotta babysit a bunch of brats like you," Auror Fowley grunted as they made their way towards the Astronomy Tower.
That man was a grumpy bastard.
Still, rules were rules, and students needed to be escorted to class, especially, when it was in the middle of the night. "I could be sleeping, but no, here I am," he went on. "My balls are about to freeze, and you, a bunch of spoiled brats, are the culprits!"
"Yeah, yeah," Tracey muttered. "We get it; you don't like us… Merlin, shut up."
He's right on that last part, though; it's cold as hell! Once they were in the Tower, each student pulled out their personal telescopy under the strict scrutiny of Professor Sinistra. The redhead did not like the subject, in his opinion, it was just a waste of time. Sure, it was cool to observe the stars on nights like that one, but apart from it, what was the point? It was not as if reciting the moons of Saturn would help them in the future.
However, as soon as Sinistra walked behind them to check the work, stars and planets became the most interesting thing in the world. "Goyle, wake up!" The Professor exclaimed from the other end of the Tower. "Rule number one of this place; it is my Tower! No sleeping here! Five points from Slytherin!"
Yikes… With a timid yawn, Ron moved his old telescopy, its old gears creaking at the minimum movement. "This is so boring," he whispered in Blaise's ear. "On what rotation do you reckon the Moon is?"
"Is that even a thing?" Blaise wondered as he looked upwards.
"Hell if I know."
A sudden light caught his attention from the Castle's terrains. What is Hagrid doing so late? The mention of the gatekeeper brought another thought to his mind. Riddle thought it was him who opened the Chamber. It was incredibly stupid to think Hagrid, one of the kindest souls on the planet, would do such an atrocity. Still, the way he treated Norbert and Fluffy… A shiver went down his spine. Yeah, Hagrid's love for dangerous creatures could have caused such a disgrace. But Riddle said he was innocent…
"Are you okay?" Blaise asked him as he raised a brow. "You look pale. More than usual, I mean."
"Yeah," Ron answered. "I just remembered I have yet to finish my Potion's essay. Snape is coming back tomorrow, and I bet my launch that his unexpected holidays didn't turn him into a happy man. I mean, how cruel do you need to be to put a deadline for homework on a weekend?"
"On that, I agree."
The weekend ended without any incident.
'It's been two months since the last attack, do you reckon the Heir chickened out?' Ron wrote with a steady hand. Day after day, he was more and more comfortable with Riddle and his diary. Besides, if Gerd needed time alone to dwell on her past, his new partner was the perfect candidate to hear all his doubts and nonsense.
'I don't know who he is, but I do know he wouldn't stop just like that. Last time, he only needed one attack to kill, but this time it is different. So far, it's been three attacks and zero deaths. Either he doesn't know how to control the monster, or he isn't as skilled with it as his predecessor.'
'I agree with you, but it's weird. People are starting to act as if there weren't two students petrified in the medical wing! Hell, even those who distrusted and accused Harry don't do it anymore!'
'Wait, did people really consider Harry Potter, the saviour of the Wizarding World, to be the Heir of Slytherin?'
'Yeah, can you believe it?' The redhead could not suppress a snort. How stupid were Ernest McMillan and the rest of the Hufflepuffs?
'By the way, how the hell did Harry save the world? I know he did it because you told me about it, but what on earth did he do to deserve such praise?'
'Oh, I forgot you aren't alive at all; no pun intended, by the way. How do I explain this? Let's say there was a very powerful dark wizard, whose name isn't even pronounced in the present, that was about to conquer the Wizarding World; we call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. From what my parents told me—which isn't a lot—the war was almost lost when he decided to attack Harry's house. No one knows why, but that night, Harry lived while You-Know-Who disappeared.'
'You said he disappeared, but you meant he died, right?'
'Yeah, he died," Ron quickly wrote the answer. Neither he nor Gerd knew how the hell He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named survived that night, but if her visions did not lie, he was still roaming the planet. Out of a sudden, he did not want the conversation with Riddle to keep going. 'I'm sorry, but I need to go. My friends are waiting for me.'
'Goodbye, Ronald. Please, be careful.'
Jessie Sweeney POV
Monday 14th February 1993 (Great Hall, Hogwarts) - Early morning
So far, they had done a pretty good job. No one could tell them otherwise.
Jessie came to Hogwarts with a renewed fire inside her. Threats like the Heir of Slytherin and the Chamber of Secrets were the kind of problems that made her become an Auror. Sure, patrolling Knockturn Alley was important for the safety of the people, but others could carry out that duty; others who did not care as much as her about the profession.
Besides, this was her chance to atone for her failure as a trainee. Because of her, Peter Pettigrew escaped; because of her, Gareth Marshal, her tutor and one of the best persons she had ever known, almost lost his job due to the Minister looking for a scapegoat; because of her, the reputation of the Auror Corps was even more damaged.
"You look as stiff as a rock," Thomas Greene pointed out as the two of them stood at the doors of the Great Hall, carrying out the morning watch. The two freshly-graduated Aurors met back during their first year at Hogwarts. He got sorted into Hufflepuff while Ravenclaw chose her. Due to that, they practically did not talk until they met once again at the doors of the Ministry, with the admission card firmly gripped in their hands. "Smile a bit! The kids will appreciate it. I would also, you know?"
Jessie rolled her eyes at the poor flirting attempt. "We are supposed to be watching over the students," she told him. It did not matter how many times the boy got rejected, there always was a smile on his face for the next try. I know Hufflepuffs are supposed to be a bunch of hardworking goodies, but this idiot is the cherry on the cake!
"What are we supposed to watch?" Thomas asked out aloud, not even bothering to hide his boredom. "I mean, Madam Bones pictured this as the worst debacle in British history. Yet, we've been here for more than a month and the castle looks the same as it was when we studied here. Hell, even Fowley doesn't attend the watches anymore!"
"Fowley is a bit…" the blond woman tried to find some not so disrespectful words for their superior, but she could not. "Anyhow, it is our duty to observe everything: students, Professors, ordinary and non-ordinary things… Two boys and a cat were petrified in the span of two months! How can you not take this seriously?"
"I do, that's why I enlisted myself to get here," he let out an exasperated sigh.
"Sorry, I snapped out of nowhere. It wasn't fair."
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds. "What are you watching right now?" Thomas changed the topic before it got too awkward.
"See that boy? The one sat at the Slytherin table between the blond girl and the black boy."
"Weasley? What's about him?"
"Why do you know his name?"
"If you ever see a tall, freckled, redhead in Britain, that's a Weasley," the male Auror chuckled. "Anyhow, what's wrong with him?"
"Could be nothing, could be something," Jessie answered. "Today, he looks more exhausted and paler than usual. That boy usually meets with Harry Potter and some other children at the most secret places of the castle. One day, I heard them talking about what to do next to capture the Heir. When I asked the Headmaster about it, he told me that they were a bunch of fair and strong kids who could not stand aside if there were some evil threatening others."
"Those other kids, the ones who sat around Potter, also look that way; a bit less, I'd say," she went on. "See that brunette girl at the end of the Hufflepuff table? The one next to the Professors. Her name is Martha, and she can't walk alone through the corridors because of how much she fears the Heir. That is our job, Thomas. To observe and analyze every person, detail or thing out of place. Thanks to that, I know what students need help the most; I know how to help the prefects in their patrols; I know who I can discard when figuring out the Heir's identity… That is what being an Auror means!"
For a moment, he looked speechless. "Dear Merlin," Thomas muttered. "Do you rest even for a moment during the day?"
"Enough to get me going."
The Hall roared as the students stood up. For them, it was time for the morning classes, for her, it was time to escort the students; that time, she needed to accompany the second-years from Slytherin and Ravenclaw to their Transfiguration class. Jessie eyed everything in the way. It did not matter if those two Houses were the ones with the least amount of muggle-born students; the Heir still was an unknown threat, and there was nothing more dangerous than that.
Right behind her, Draco Malfoy led the students from the two Houses. Just by looking at the way he walked, it was so obvious the boy did not consider the Heir as a threat to him. Jessie sent a look to the back row. There, she found the red-haired kid whom she talked to Thomas about—Ronald Weasley, if she remembered correctly—talking in whispers with some brunette girl, another member of their little anti-Heir group. Everything looks in order so far.
When she reached the classroom, Professor McGonagall thanked her for the effort. "Fawley dropped by a few minutes ago," the stern woman told her before getting into the classroom. "He said something about wanting to talk with you in private. He's waiting for you atop of the Astronomy Tower."
"Really?" Jessie raised a brow. "There wasn't any meeting scheduled… Whatever, thank you for the information, Minerva."
In a matter of minutes, the blond woman reached the highest point of the castle. It was a long walk, but if her superior wanted to talk in private with her, it must have been grave; Henry Fawley disliked his juniors as much as they did it back.
She did not know what upsetted her the most, if it was the cold air hitting her right in the face as soon as she stepped outside, or the grumpy grunt Fawley used to welcome her; truly a lovable person. The veteran Auror was leaning on the iron handrail, his long and grayish hair tied in a low ponytail that ended a bit below the shoulder blades. "Took you long enough," Fawley said as he rolled a bit of snow between his fingers.
"It's a long way here from the Great Hall," Jessie answered, trying to remain as calm as possible. Think at all the times you needed to escort that bitch of Umbridge… Think about it… Fawley is just a little puppy when compared to her; a very detestable one, though.
"I've received new orders from the headquarters," Fawley said, not beating the bushes around. "It seems the Minister is very happy with the way we've represented the Ministry here. What do you make of it, Sweeney?"
Wait, is he asking for my opinion? No, that question looked like a test. Jessie pondered about the information for a few seconds. "The elections are close," the young Auror pointed out. "Fudge's reputation was left severely damaged after Pettigrew escaped, and all the rumors about students getting attacked in Hogwarts didn't help him at all."
"Go on."
"Since the War ended, the resources put in our Department were literally cut in half. We've always been the perfect scapegoats everytime a tragedy happened, however, for the past month, The Prophet has done nothing but praise our efforts and results here. My bet is Fudge wants us to work even harder here."
"Not bad," Fawley grunted, finally turning around to look at his junior. "That moron is planning on a visit here. He wants to make a public appearance to steal all the glory for himself. Our new orders are to work harder for the security of the people; not because our dear Minister wants to be reelected once again, of course," as he finished, the veteran tossed some little bag at her.
It had the Ministry's logo sewed on it, and it made a metallic tingle when she grabbed it midair. "What 's this?" Jessie asked. "Wait, it is money?"
"Jackpot," Fawley nodded. "It's a little incentive for us to work harder. Isn't our Minister a great person?"
When she became a trainee for the Auror Corps, it only took her a few weeks to understand how little faith did her superiors had in Fudge as a politician. The man did nothing but to cut their resources and having them work in stupid things, such as protection for his pureblood friends; as if they needed it! Still, the chain of command needed to be respected. They were soldiers at the country's service, after all.
Madam Amelia Bones often managed to improve their work conditions and salary, but the bag of money she had in her hands was none of that. It was wrong; simply and plainly wrong. "You can keep it," Jessie grunted as she tossed the bag back at Fawley. "This is dirty money. It isn't a reward or an incentive for our work. It is solely for the Minister's benefit and his bloody electoral program… I don't accept bribes."
The older man took a few seconds to stare at her. "Come here, stupid girl," he finally said, beckoning her to walk foward. It was a rare thing, but there was not any disdain or irony in his voice. Just dead calm. "Dealing with politicians and their shit is something we don't teach to the trainees," Fawley sighed once she stood by his side. "They play with us as they please. 'You need to protect Lord Malfoy in the upcoming event,' or 'I need you to deliver this letter to my friend Yaxley,'. Those have been the orders I've heard the most in the last ten years."
"I burned out a long time ago of this shit," the veteran confesseed. "What's the point of the endless patrols in Diagon and Knockturn Alley? We know who are those who break the law, and yet, we do nothing to prevent it. I have a huge respect for Amelia, but she's always been too reluctant to speak up to her superiors. It's not her fault, though. She's a politician, not a soldier," he took a moment to look at the cloudy sky before resuming. "I don't know whose fault it is. Maybe, it is everyone's. All I know is that it is too late to change this shity system; at least, for me."
"Why are you telling me all of this?" Jessie could not help herself but ask.
"Hell if I know," Fawley snorted as he placed the bag of money back on her hand. "This money might not be clean, as you said. It's a bribe to incite us to work harder. However, you deserve it, girl. You've worked way harder than me and your friend. Accept it, not as a bribe, but as a reward for your efforts. Accept it, not as money from the Minister, but as a reward from your superiors. Don't let other person's incompetence to fuck your hard work up, Sweeney. Now, get out of my sight and patrol the dungeons for me. Come on, don't make me repeat those words!"
After that, the morning went very smooth without any complications; not even chastising kids for skipping classes and wandering around during such delicate times. I've missed these corridors so much, Jessie smiled as she strode through the castle. Hogwarts really was the best thing that ever happened to me. Those thoughts helped her to avert her mind from Fudge and politicians. Nothing had practically changed since she graduated. The same sets of armours; the same pestering ghosts; those people who could not remain in their pictures…
Someone screamed for help nearby.
It was an automatic response. Her body tensed as the wand came out from the secret pocket in the sleeves. "Remember, during any situation, civilians are the priority," those words from Scrimgeour, said to them during their first as trainees, were always present in her mind as soon as anything happened. "Prepare yourselves for battle, evacuation or persecution, but do not ever engage until all the people are out of danger!"
Jessie turned the corner with her wand already gleaming with red sparks. What she found there was… "What the hell?" The Auror muttered.
There, in the middle of an immense corridor of the fourth level, two students from Ravenclaw were trying to escape from some surly-looking dwarves. It looked so stupid that even the golden wings and red hats they wore were unnoticed for some seconds. "Arresto Momentum," Jessie chanted as her left hand went forward.
With a very precise wave of magic, the spell stopped the dwarves midair. "Thank you so much!" One of the students spluttered as he tried to regain his breath. "Those fuckers came out of nowhere and started to follow us."
"Yeah," his friend nodded rather fervently. "They started to threaten us as soon as we told them to sod off!"
The Auror had no words to describe the absurdity of the situation. "I thought the Heir had struck again," she muttered to herself as if there were not two students in front of her. "What the hell is going on?" Jessie asked once she regained her composure. "What are those creatures?"
"I think it's Lockhart's work," the tallest boy answered. "He said something about lifting the castle's spirit. He 's barmy."
"It's Valentine," the other boy explained. "Those bloody dwarves are the ones in charge of delivering the letters and the chocolates. Some girl sent one to us, so they started to pursue us."
I can't believe this… It was at that moment when she realized the multiple decorations in the corridor. There were red and golden ornaments everywhere, even decorating the old and regal-looking armours. From the little bags the dwarves carried, a few letters had fallen to the floor with them, splattered all over the place. This is surreal.
Out of a sudden, a tug from her long skirt brought her back to reality. "Excuse me, madam," a hoarse voice started from behind. She did not need to turn around to see to whom it belonged. "I'm here to deliver this letter for you, written by an anonymous student. It says 'Oh, she is as brave as she is beautiful-'"
Jessie silenced him as soon as those words came out from the dwarf's mouth.
At first, the little creature looked outraged to have his job interrupted, then, he realized the murderous look on the Auror's face. The dwarf put the letter back on his bag and did a little curtsey before sprinting away from there. "Yeah, I thought so," Jessie muttered, still a bit flushed. She shook her head and looked at the students. "You shouldn't walk through the corridors by yourselves. Go back to your common room and don't look at those hellish creatures in the way."
The two boys nodded fervently before walking in the opposite direction from the one the dwarf took. Here we are, in a situation of extreme danger, and that fool can't even take this seriously. Unfortunately, the narcissist Professor was not the only one who did not take the Chamber and the Heir as seriously as they should. Many students were starting to forget the fact that there were two of his mates in the medical wing, completely petrified for months.
People thought the attacks stopped thanks to their labor. A little part of her really wanted to believe that, but it was nonsense. Someone as vile as the Heir of Slytherin would not stop due to the arrival of three Aurors. The bastard killed a muggle-born girl fifty years ago, the fact his three previous attacks did not end in a tragedy was just a stroke of luck. No, they did not chase him away; they were just another setback on his way.
Because of that, Jessie could not lower her guard. If patrolling for hours after hours helped to make the Heir hesitate, then, it would be a game of endurance; one she could not lose.
Ronald Weasley POV
Wednesday 16th February 1993 (Slytherin dormitories) - Before classes
Why won't he attack? Is he waiting for something? For another week, those were the only thoughts in Ron's mind. It did not matter how many times he talked about it; neither with Harry, the others, or even with Riddle. They were lost. Neville said that, maybe, the fact there had not been an attack in more than two months was good news. But neither the Professor nor the Aurors seemed to share his opinion; at least, judging on the way they acted.
The students needed to be escorted by an adult or a seventh-year prefect to every class; the dinner now took place one hour earlier due to the curfew; Quidditch games had been canceled… Everything screamed maximum alert.
'We must be missing something important,' Ron wrote in the diary.
'I don't know. The Heir managed to trick us for an entire year back in my time. He is a skilled bastard.'
Day after day, the redhead and Riddle talked about how they could stop the Heir, but nothing useful came to their minds. It had been more than a month since they first talked. Initially, it freaked him out. That diary of his was very advanced magic; one he did not know to be possible. Sure, magical diaries were a common thing, but none of them could store and revive memories from the past. 'Don't you wanna know where your present self is?' Ron asked him that very same day after dinner. 'I would.'
'Plenty of times,' Riddle wrote back almost instantly. 'It's been a while since the last time, though. When I created this diary—right after my graduation—all I wanted was to travel around the world. Maybe, I could become a Professor some years after that. But deep inside me, I knew I might not live enough to see my dreams come true. I tried to hunt the Heir when we both were students. He knew it. I could be living on borrowed time for all I knew. That is the reason why I focused all my time and efforts into the creation of this diary… It's pointless to ponder about my whereabouts when I should be dead.'
'I see.' Ron wanted to know more about Riddle. All he knew about the man—from his memories and tales—made the redhead admire him a bit. Tom Riddle was a man who probably gave his life to stop a vile person; he deserved to be respected. 'You were a half-blood, weren't you? At least, that's what I remember from the vision you showed me.'
'I was, but never knew I was a wizard until a Professor came to visit me at the orphanage,' as the words appeared on the notebook, Ron felt something akin to fondness in them. 'Good ol' Headmaster Dippet… That man changed my life for the better. I wasn't a brave person, but when I learned that Hogwarts could be closed, I thought about my past self… about all the children like me who might never see the castle because of that hateful bastard… Well, you know the rest.'
His mistake cost Hagrid a lot, and now, he wanted to redeem himself.
That thought made his mind snap. Riddle's story was very similar to Gerd's! The two of them committed a grave mistake in the past; the two of them wanted redemption; hell, the two of them showed him part of their memories in a colorless place! Wait, could this diary and Gerd be related somehow? Gerd turned into an Essentia after her death, while Riddle lives in this diary created before meeting his end… Maybe, the fact it developed a conscience is because the Riddle in the present is dead! Would that turn him into an Essentia?
It would not hurt anyone to ask the older student about it, right? 'I got a question for you. It could even help you to know if your present self is dead or not.'
'I'm all ears.'
'Let's say I met some woman who…, okay, unlike you, I know she is dead, but you two are quite similar. The first time you showed me your memories, I thought the diary was some kind of Pensieve, but now… She also showed me some moments of her life in a colorless vision, just like you did. I was wondering if you've ever heard of something like that, and if that was how you made the diary.'
'She is…, dead, you say?'
'Yes.'
The answer took an entire minute to get written. 'I'm sorry, but I know nothing. I created this diary with a Pensieve as the mold. I put many years of effort and sentiment into this little notebook. Maybe, that is the reason why it resembles so much to a conscience; to my conscience. That being said, you got me pretty interested with what you just said… A dead person who can share visions of her past life with others? Mind telling me a bit more about that woman? I've always been a huge enthusiast of magic, and that is something I've never heard about.'
For what he knew, Riddle was a good guy, but was he trustworthy enough to talk to him about Gerd? No, that would be a betrayal to her. It did not matter if he wanted to help her. Unless she was there to agree with him, Ron would never talk about the Essentia and her life. 'I'm so sorry, but I can't do it. It isn't something I can decide for myself. She is a very good friend of mine, and I don't wanna betray her trust in me.'
'Oh, I see… If you ever change your opinions, I'm all ears.'
With a tired sigh, the redhead closed the diary. What the hell was I thinking? I almost told him about Gerd… We need to catch the Heir before I lose my mind. A sudden knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts. "You can come in," Ron said as he hid the diary behind the covers of the bed.
Much to his surprise, it was Daphne the one to walk in. "Hello," the blond girl greeted. "Do I interrupt something?"
"Ehm, no?"
"Good. I wanted to talk with you," Daphne said as she dropped herself on Blaise's bed. "Is there something wrong with…, I don't know…, maybe, something worrying you too much? Apart from the Heir and the Chamber, I mean."
"What?" He sent her a weird look. "What kind of question is that? You know what's wrong with me and the others. It's been like that since the Heir first struck."
"No, it hasn't," she softly denied. "Everything was fine—given the situation, of course—until a few days after the winter holidays. At first, it was barely noticeable, but then, day after day, you started to spend more and more time by yourself, all alone in your bedroom. You'd come with eyebags the next morning, feeling more tired and irascible… I've kept an eye on Harry and the others… They also look more troubled and worried than before Christmas, but not nearly as close as you look."
She's talking about all the hours I've spent chatting with Riddle… I understand what she wants to say, but the diary could be the key to capturing the Heir. If I tell anyone about it, it might be the end of our partnership. Ron stared at the green carpet for a few seconds, trying to come up with a decent excuse. "I don't know what to tell you," he finally admitted. "I'd love to say that I'm totally fine and all that shit, but I'm not. Last year, despite the whole thing about the Stone, we had a clear direction to follow; there weren't students getting attacked just because of the purity of their blood. However, this year…"
"It's difficult to describe, but I feel as if I was in an endless loop of…, I don't know…, anxiety, stress and all those things," he went on. What started as an excuse to get through the conversation had turned into some sort of confession. "I know the others feel like me. They might not have taken our failures as hard as me because they are mentally stronger or because of other bloody reasons, but I know they are as frustrated as me. It's just that I'm way worse at hiding it."
For a moment, neither of the two friends looked at each other; the blonde stared as the ceiling while the redhead did the same with the floor; the girl softy tapped the carpet with her foot as he fidgeted with his wand between his fingers. "I know you aren't telling me everything," Daphne finally broke the silence. "But this time, I'm not gonna pressure you to tell me the truth. I wanted out of your search for the Heir the second it started, and you told me to not ask about if I wanted to be as far from danger as possible."
"Despite that, if there is something else in your mind troubling you, you can tell me, okay?" The blonde continued as she stood up from the bed. "We are still friends, you know? It isn't only me, you can also count on Blaise and Tracey to tell us how you feel," she turned to smile at him for the last time before walking out of the bedroom. "Just try to talk with us about it, okay? Otherwise, we'll need to start pestering you until the old Ron comes back; the one who'd do the same for us."
Like that—as if she hadn't just made his face as red as a tomato—Daphne left the room. "Bloody girl," Ron muttered as an embarrassed smile formed on his face. "You can't say that and leave the room as if nothing had happened at all…" The redhead now felt awful because of his lie, but it was something necessary; at least, he hoped that time would prove it.
Out of a sudden, a very weird sensation went down his whole body; it was gratitude and trust. In no time at all, the boy found himself with the diary and a quill on his hands. 'I promised you that I wouldn't tell anyone about you,' the redhead wrote. 'Not before we capture the Heir. I wouldn't ever keep you down from redeeming yourself… Hell, if the truth about the Chamber and the Heir comes to light, Hagrid might be able to be excused from whatever shit he was accused of.'
'That would make me even happier… Thank you, Ronald, really. Great things are waiting for us, trust me, I can feel it. We will make the world a better place…'
Well, there it is. I think what I have planned for this arc can be incredible if I manage to execute it well enough. I trust myself and my skills a lot, so I don't think I will regret it, but the future is uncertain!
I really wanna continue the story, so I'll try to write as much as I can before my exams come. See you at the next chapter!