Hi all,

let me add a short Disclaimer:
The Erl-King belongs to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, obviously, and I know Tom is British, not a German like myself, but he might have come across the first published translation from 1885 in ‚Poems of Goethe: Translated in the Original Metres, by Edgar Alfred Bowring, C.B' anyway?

"I'm about to fall asleep," Elliott sighs, half his face on the tabletop already – on the very spot not covered by books yet. He looks up as he's yawning, obviously dead tired. "Are you ever going to stop writing again?"

"Almost done," I inform him before resting my quill for a moment. As I briefly meet his glance, however, I can't suppress an incredulous shake of my head. "Your face is covered in ink."

"What?" he asks, his hands over his cheeks faster than I can blink. "Better?"

"Yes. But why are you so lost, Elliott?"

He raises his brows. "You of all people ask that?"

"Touché ..."

"You can't possibly not be done with that essay yet," Elliott then repeats. "We've been in the library for less than an hour, but you've already written seven pages on Fiendfyre ..."

"And you merely wrote two pages on boggarts," I grumble, already continuing my writing. "So maybe you should consider interesting topics as well and get some the ink on the paper instead of –"

"Really funny." He stretches and yawns again. "I don't think I can write anymore today. I'm going to the common room to see if anyone wants to play Wizard's Chess."

"Ell, how many more times do you need to be told – Cassia won't play with you. She hates Wizard's Chess, she even asked me through Rouvenia to tell you that."

"What?" He pouts. "Then why doesn't she tell me herself?"

"Because she apparently doesn't like chatting with you that much," I assert matter-of-factly, knowing well it hardly affects him.

As unconcerned as I know him, he waves it off. "I'm sure that's just a misinterpretation ..."

I draw in a deep breath, simply shaking my head. "You should've been sorted into Gryffindor if, in all your delusion, you refuse to take advice."

"No need for sarcasm," Elliott chortles, "I'd be even more likely to be a Hufflepuff."

"You?" I grin. "Dream on ..."

"Slytherin loves Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff loves Slytherin." He nods affirmatively. "It's always been that way. Salazar and Helga – a dream team."

"Don't you know the stories?" I ask. "Rumor has it that Rowena's daughter was Salazar's."

"No, no one knows who her father was," Elliott protests. "That's just gossip. But think about it, Tom. A snake and a raven?" He screws up his face dramatically. "No way."

"At least a raven can fly away," I mutter as I turn the pages of my book. "But feel free to explain to me how a badger is supposed to get along with a snake ..."

"Oh, they can bite and be pretty mean," he immediately laughs. "We had one behind my uncle's property once, and it was a really nasty fellow. But, well … In the end, Cassia probably falls for our stupid Quidditch Captain just like Sophronia."

"When exactly was the subject changed back to that?"

"It's just on my mind," he admits, then he leans in toward me. "Honestly, Tom, I don't get you. Why are you reading and learning in this dark library when you could just as well be having fun and maybe even fall in love?"

"Do I strike you as someone who wants to fall in love and have fun?"

"No," he replies, chuckling. "Not at all, but ... that's the thing. I don't get it."

"Waste of time," I mumble as I continue writing. "Pointless waste of time."

"Is it common for Londoners to be that ambitious?" he asks. "Or is it just an orphan thing?"

"Very good, Ell," I praise him absentmindedly, though to his surprise. I explain, "Your own sarcasm gets better, I mean."

He nods mischievously. "The Hufflepuff badger in me bites every now and then. Slytherpuff you might call it."

"Please – spare me ..."

"It's fine," Elliott is quick to say, already getting up and packing his things. "I'll try my luck with chess now. If need be, I guess I'll have to steal some Amortentia."

"Mhm." I look up in surprise. "As in Goethe? I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy! And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ. I didn't know a Slytherpuff was capable of such dark thoughts ..."

"I don't know who Goethe is, but I know, I know ..." He winks. "It's all punishable by law for very good reason, I was just kidding." As he walks away, he lightly adds, "But I'm sure my humor will beguile Cassia, too, sooner or later!"

"Then you'd better hurry to make it sooner, just to avoid dying before ..."

I'm watching him for a while, then abruptly wonder why, unlike everyone else, nothing means anything to me. Why is my heart attached to nothing and no one, and why is the only thing that can distract me knowledge?

Because I was at the mercy of a grim world at the beginning of my life?

My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide? –

Because the world simply never left me any room for weakness. Because I was told to be mad due to the magic in me? By a world that could not understand any of it …

Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train? –
My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain. –

Because without a heart to cling to something living, you hear the voices of darkness so clearly in the silence?

My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear? –
Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives;
'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves. –

Voices from the shadows cannot be explained by sad wind and withering leaves. And yet only those who tried playing it down with that explanation in vain will ever understand.

Is knowledge power?
My thoughts are always racing, my head wants to be used. What books about theories of great minds, whether Muggle or not, and literature about art, mythology and philosophy would back in the days do, now only teachings about Dark Magic can.

He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;
He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread, –
The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.

Once the wax has been used up, a candle soon burns out.
Does the inner child die as soon as we turn a blind eye to the inexplicable?
Or does it die because all others won't believe it?

Be that as it may ... With each day, it becomes somewhat more difficult to control my abilities. I don't know for sure whether it's only me who is fighting this silent battle within – but I tend to believe so. As unusual as my path has been, perhaps my magic is just as unusual. Who knows.

Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.

And yet, throughout the entire ballad, the Erl-King could not help. In the end, any human connection seems to be completely irrelevant after all.

I am fully aware that I can keep the equilibrium between my head and the wand in my hand in check only by myself, and only as long as I know everything there is to know about it.

I could undoubtedly conjure up a Fiendfyre for instance. But could I tame it? In order to create it, wouldn't I have to be master of my senses and the flames?

So I learn as much as I can. To understand myself and the magic in me.

Fiendfyre, due to its dark nature, is so unbridled in destructive fury that it is even capable of destroying a Horcrux.

Whatever a Horcrux is. I'll probably find out one day ...

Neither water nor known spells can harm the flames – often in the form of powerful beasts. Therefore, it is important to emphasize that summoning Fiendfyre is only advisable with profound magical knowledge and in full control of it. It is reported that some sorcerers died trying to tame it.

Wonderful. How am I to practice if I risk killing myself in the process?

I need other sources. Who knows if the author of this very work really knew enough about it ...

I massage my tense neck with one hand as I make my way to the shelves. Dusty, almost dilapidated spines, worn covers and yellowed pages.
Just like back in London ...
I have an idea where the book in question must be, so I pass a few shelves until I realize that someone has probably already borrowed it.

In annoyance, I blow all air out of my cheeks and head back to my spot by the window – when she runs into my arms.

"You again?"

Harper raises her brows. "No, you again! And the last time we've snapped at each other was over the summer, so what does 'again' even mean, anyway?"

"There's not a soul here," I state. "Except for you."

"And you," she immediately shoots back.

"Are you following me?" I bluntly stare at her, but she's genuinely outraged. So are her thoughts ...

"By all means – it's you who should loosen your tie – you don't seem to be getting enough breath," she hisses. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more meaningful things to do."

She holds up a book, making it unmistakably clear what she's considering to be meaningful, and once again I'm simply out of luck.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mumble, now pointing to the book, too. "I was just looking for that. Why do you want it?"

She pauses. "You couldn't possibly have said that in a more condescending manner, but guess what, I'm doing research on – no, you know what? None of your business!"

She's about to rush past me, but I need this book.

"Harper, wait," I groan. In vain, moreover, because she doesn't stop and I need to catch up to her.

"You do remember my name," she says, and it almost sounds like a complaint.

"No need for pride," I retort, "I remember pretty much everything – including how you doubted my intellect over the summer simply because I got up from the Slytherin table ..."

She stops abruptly, looking almost caught. "Yes, I'm ... sorry about that." She can see my surprise at these words right in my face, so she explains, "That was mean. Ravenclaw is constantly being accused of arrogance, and we truly are a bit conceited at times. I didn't mean to offend Slytherin. And neither you ..."

"I don't care about regrets," I inform her impatiently. "I just want the book."

Now I've alienated her, it's completely obvious.

"The library closes in less than two hours," she thinks aloud, "that's –"

"Not much time," I complete her sentence. "Right."

"There you go." She nods. "You see, I can't do anything for you."

She's making me mad just like she did in the summer, and that alone has me running after her again.

"Look for other literature!" I demand.

"You look for other literature ..." She trudges on through the main corridor of the library, already opening the book to read while walking.

I always do that, too. But she won't today ...

"Illegibilus!"

Promptly she turns around again, growling because the text has become unreadable.

I shrug my shoulders and smile triumphantly.

But my victory is short-lived as she aims her wand at the book. "Finite Incantatem!"

"Just give me the book!" I shout back at her, but she simply gives me a bitter glance and turns back around.

I am finally losing my patience.
And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ.
I'm certainly not going to run after her again.
She's coming to me.

"Carpe Retractum!"

"Protego!" She bounces off my curse with surprising dexterity.

Not bad at all.

"How dare you …" she whispers, staring at me darkly intent, running back to me now even without a spell. "Why are you so bloody stubborn? You cross my way, then you insinuate that I'm chasing you like I have nothing else to do, and now you seriously expect me to let you have this book? How bloody stupid do you think I am? Do you expect me to hand you the book just because you look at me with that perfect face of yours?"

"You think my face to be perfect?"

I don't know if she's getting all crimson with anger or pudency, probably a mixture of both, but anyway she hisses at me, "You're missing the point!"

"What's going on here?" we suddenly hear Madam Pince hurrying up to us. "Why are spells sparking around?"

"Oh, everything's fine," Harper lies to her face. To me, she hums much more quietly, "Not like I couldn't handle that."

"Yes, everything is fine." I, too, nod saintly at Madam Pince, yet to Harper I whisper, "I'm used to that kind of fallacy ..."

We smile at each other like hypocrites, then we beam at Madam Pince.

She is suspicious, of course she is, but even more so she's wondering about the book Harper is clutching to her chest so tightly.

"Is that what you're fighting over?" She sighs, clearly unnerved. "Because in that case, I strongly advise you to hurry up, find a nice spot together and just share it instead of wasting time!"

This surprisingly simple idea hadn't occurred to me yet. Harper's face, however, reveals that I am not the only one.

"Come on," Madam Pince shoos us away, "what are you waiting for? I'm closing in an hour, whether you're ready or not! Off you go!"

Groaning inwardly, we both nod until Madam Pince makes her way back to her own book, then we exchange a cold glance.

"You know what?" Harper thrusts the book into my hand, shaking her head, probably believing I'm on my worst behavior. Again, fallacy. "Take it. I'll be damned if I'm going to read it with you!"

"All the better ..."

If she's expecting polite appeasement now, she's on the dead wrong track. I immediately turn around and walk back to my seat to open the chapter on Fiendfyre, looking for more clues.

I am so engrossed in my research at once again that I don't even notice her approaching footsteps.

Hence I flinch when Harper suddenly sits down at my table, right across from me, placing her elbows on it to hold her head up.

"Changed my mind."

"Why's that?" I ask. "Did hell freeze over?"

She blows a strand of hair out of her face, then she puts her parchment along with ink and her quill on the table, saying, "I'm not here to chat. Read in the book and hurry up."

I roll my eyes, then skim over the paragraphs that might be useful again. I make bullet points before I finally push the book toward her.

"You're reading about Fiendfyre?" she asks, unable to hide her wild surprise.

"It seems so, doesn't it?" I retort, repeating her words from earlier. "But that's none of your business."

She mock smiles, then grabs the book and flips through its pages for a while.

I'm writing, she's reading, both of us silent and lost in theories for what must be almost half an hour.

Surprisingly pleasant, not talking, just reading, the two of us, alone, together ...

Until I need the book again and verbalize this in a rather direct manner.

She looks up and tilts her head. I can see the demanding expectation in her glance.

"Please," I moan before we get into another petty lecture about polite hypocrisy again.

Yet she immediately smiles as though the sun is rising, just to then hand me our shared misery.

"You're reading about the Patronus Charm?" I ask, well surprised, before flipping back to my chapter.

For the first time, I notice some sort of humility on her face. "I think Dementors are rather scary."

I simply can't help it – I chuckle.

"What's so funny about that?" she sourly asks.

"Well," I sigh, "just seems like too much of a cliché ..."

She gives me a dirty look, demanding, "Read what you came to read – I wasn't done yet."

"Can you cast a corporeal one?" I ask. "A Patronus?"

I can't.
How could I? What would I be thinking about? My beautiful childhood in an impoverished orphanage? Madness I was only too happy to defend myself against with magic?
On the other hand, I suspect that Dementors would seek other targets anyway. Folks that would have more joy and bliss to offer ...

"Not yet," she admits, leaning back wearily. "It's not that easy, but that's why I'm here ... But honestly, the scribbles in this book distract me a bit. Kind of cryptic."

"Where, show me," I say, already noticing myself in the face of her gaze that I'm not really getting anywhere with my usual commanding tone. "If you want ..."

She motions for me to hand her the book, then flips through it, pointing to a handwritten note on the yellowed pages.

"Here – 'gargoyle, access,' then there's an arrow painted on it pointing to the word 'favorite dessert'."

I frown. "Gargoyle, access, favorite dessert? Oh sure ... How telling."

"Yes, isn't it?" She shrugs it off and places the book between us before looking at me conspiratorially. "You asked me about the Patronus – now it's my turn. Can you control a Fiendfyre?"

Her even considering it, at our age, almost equals a compliment.

I gaze at her for a couple of breaths, simply because she's eyeing me so intently. Her hair is a mess, the tie loose beyond good and evil, but this excited curiosity suits her incredibly well ...

"You think I can, don't you?"

She hesitates for a moment, then proceeds to squint at the pages of my essay. Her eyes wander over the lines, then she looks up again.

"No," she almost whispers, smiling triumphantly. "Because you don't know yet where you could practice exactly that ..."

"I'm open to suggestions," I wanly reply.

"Oh, I'm sure you are."

She knows something. She's just not saying it.
I hate it when someone knows more than I do and doesn't say anything ...

"Tell me," I prompt her. "You want to practice your Patronus somewhere without fear of Dementors, don't you?"

"Yeah, except my Patronus isn't black magic." She smiles, ever so calm. "That is to say that I can practice anywhere, right under Dippet's nose if need be, whereas you ... can't."

Also I hate it when others are right ...

I do some quick soul-searching, then rest my face on my hands and look directly at her. "If I used the magic word, would you share your idea with me?"

"Not a good deal," she says. "For usage of the magic word, you might get handed salt shakers and books, but ... revelations like that? They're worth way more. Especially since I'm relatively sure I can't trust you."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," I retort, smiling as audaciously as I can.

She shakes her head in amusement. "Nice try, Riddle, very charming. But you'd better read up on the theory a little more before you practically burn down the whole castle. Because I like it here ..."

Her gallows humor forces me to grin bleakly. "It's certainly not my intention to destroy Hogwarts in flames."

"Very reassuring," she laughs to herself before grabbing my other source to search through it. "Oh, Riddle," she immediately sighs, biting her lips in a mixture of amusement and worry, "Necromancy? Your reading seems a bit macabre overall."

"I don't know what you mean," I claim, dead serious, as though there was even the slightest chance that I wouldn't have known that myself already.

She taps a paragraph, saying, "Inferi. They're basically next, right after dementors, on my fear list ..."

"You seem to have a lot of fear." All I earn is a reproving look, but it eventually turns into a smirk.

"You're a bit mad," she says, giving me a mischievous glance. "But that's good," she quickly adds. "Everyone is. It's just that some people are terribly boring anyway ..."

She ought to be bothering me. I've never wanted company in the library. Elliott's company, in case he keeps quiet, is all I was ever in for.
But irritatingly enough, her presence doesn't bother me ... If that's not peculiar, I don't know what is.

We soon read on in silence, she's gets stuck on necromancy, I finish my essay.

"May I see what I gave you my book for?" she finally asks.

My brows have a way of rising on their own, but ... why not, actually.

"Here," I say, pushing the nine parchment pages toward her. "And it's not your book ..."

"I had it first."

"Congratulations."

A last sideways glance, then she begins to read.

"You have a beautiful handwriting," she notes in the middle of it, without looking up.

"You think so," I hear me say, and Harper just nods before letting her painted red fingernails pause on one spot.

She actually has adorable little hands ...

"It's taking shape? The form of a beast?"

I nod. "At least it'd look impressive once one burns to ashes in it."

"Reading through your thoughts like that," she almost whispers, "I could jump to the insane conclusion that you indeed might manage to control it." She looks up at me again, narrowing her eyes. "Do you think you could?"

"I've been playing with fire ever since I was a kid, so yes," I claim. "But I also suffer from chronic insolence from time to time, ought to mention that as well."

"Wouldn't have guessed that …" She nods in silence, then glances at the old clock above us. "Madam Pince is about to throw us out."

"She's a woman of her word, yes."

Harper is in conflict with herself, I can see it, but her sense of adventure clearly wins. "Have you ever heard of the Room of Requirement?"

I slowly shake my head as we begin to grin at each other.