22 Chapter 22: Solving the Riddle part-2
(Note: Hey guys, this chapter is dedicated to nurses, doctors and all those who dedicate their lives to help others.)
A perfect scheme had a special brand of beauty.
Whether it stemmed from the wholeness of the plan or the sweet taste of victory it heralded, it was an established fact that the cruel exactitude of well-crafted could bring much pleasure to the hearts of the sensible minded.
This truth was well-known by Magnus, as such things often were, which brought about many an event through the years. All of which were much advantageous to the silent observer, eagle-eyed.
Such an event accompanied the wretched chorus of hate crimes and bloodied prejudice that forced the otherwise carefree school into this well-defended bastion, guarded by many a powerful wizard and skilled expert all focused on their respective duties…in addition to Lockhart, who was currently snoozing in a broom closet.
That last fact was unknown to Ginevra Weasley who made her way, mind-plagued, into the Ravenclaw tower with many a plan in mind, none of which Magnus didn't account for.
The girl was relatively aware of 'her' actions yet was helpless to put a stopper to them, as wretched as they were. And none could fault her for giving in to Voldemort's dark designs, too mighty for her feeble willpower to even hope understand, let alone resist. She fought bravely for control, battling the corruption with all of her being, aware that the target of the dark wizard's doomfull ire was himself measuring himself to the soul-shard in a game of wits and cunning; as snake and eagle battle in dual hunt.
Yet the struggle was in vain, for such was the way of the world.
*Open* she hissed, in a tongue that was decidedly not hers. The command, spoken to a rather discreet serpentine symbol in a corner, allowed the opening of yet another gift of mighty Salazar.
The girl made her way through the byzantine catacombs that were more befitting of a medieval castle than most of the wondrous school. Cold brimstone, with dust and dirt from times immemorial, moist and humidity leading to the proliferation of mosses and insects; which in turn created a whole habitat of disgusting things to accompany them.
A most messed up circle of life.
One was bound to get lost in the rather restrictive but awfully complex tunnels, if they missed the many indication written in obscure magicks, visible only to the snake tongued who searched for them.
An elegant piece of precise, masterfully controlled ritual magic like only Salazar Slytherin could create. For the bastard of house Gaunt, this was just one more display of his ancient blood's superiority over the bumbling buffoons that were his peers in modern Britain.
His newest shell's small feet struggled to reach their destinations, wand alight to clear the path and discourage the devious rats, insects and other wretched creature from viewing the red-head as a fine dinner. But she eventually arrived to the chamber of secrets, as he always did.
Tom could positively feel his consciousness latching on hers, the magically brought sleep he imposed on her mind stronger than ever. It was not quite enough to satisfy his high standards. The spiritual link between his soul-shard and her bod, which housed hers, was nowhere potent enough to start a complete take-over procedure without damaging himself in ways untold.
The risks were unacceptable, the young shade concluded with finality.
For Tom riddle was no fool, and he knew the risks of soul-magicks better than anyone. To damage himself furthermore after witnessing the side-effects of his horcrux would be naught more than madness, it would break his psyche and weaken his soul into complete instability.
Tom riddle had dreams for this world, ambitions greater than anyone could imagine. He knew all from the misery of an orphanage in times of war to the wonder of the most arcane magics while experiencing a thousand shades of good and evil. He lived more than most, and as such was certainly much more than them.
He would lead the wizarding world into a new golden age, an era of growth and prosperity under his most skilled guidance. All the things he could accomplish, the changes he could bring to this decadent, stagnant world if he was in the places of these fools who called themselves leaders.
Tom Riddle was made to rule this world, and he would make sure his reign was as long and prosperous as it could possibly be; this was his promise.
*Come*
He summoned the king of serpents, through the forked tongue only the heirs only Slytherin could speak. As his brilliant mind pondered and planned the resolution of his newest problem, a thousand thought and consideration flying through his psyche in ways indescribable to anyone who shared not his genius.
For Tom, his mind was akin to a most magnificent runic array. Hundreds of focci-points were at his disposition, each one as capable as any wizard of common virtue. He could partition them to settle multiple problems at once, or concentrate many of them to overcome a single task with utmost efficiency, as he was now doing.
It was simply beautiful, as far as he was concerned, and so was the giant snake that slithered toward him in outstanding speed of a creature of its size. Eyes covered by transparent lids, so as not to fell its precious master by accident.
*You shall stay hidden for a time, my sweet* He hissed, as he gently petted the confused beast's snout to calm its upcoming revolt at the prospect of yet another confinement in the chamber.
Tom Riddle knew he would win this game, for he always did. Yet he had to command this new opponent, as young as he was. To repress him to such an extent that he needed to interfere personally was an admirable feat for someone so inexperienced. It was a pity he'd have to eliminate this threat, recruiting the boy was sadly not an option when his own safety was not secured.
"The world shall witness the might of Lord Voldemort." He mumbled, his calm face twisting in a crazed mockery of what excitement should be.
A dark lord wouldn't be bested by a child, that was a foolish idea, wasn't it? Why not a toddler, while we are spouting nonsense.
It was a matter of logic, something which wizards often lacked, yet Tom had in abundance; just like talent, good looks and many a quality…though modesty was admittedly no virtue of his.
He knew that children, no matter how outstandingly developed they were, were prone to great lapse in judgment due to their inexperience. They'd overlook crucial information, for they knew no better, or they would make a most fleshed out plan based on a glaring fallacy they wouldn't bother verifying.
And above all else, they were utterly convinced that they were the only intelligent people around.
Tom will find this mistake, and viciously capitalize on it. He was, after all, the heir of Slytherin.
"What is this?" he mumbled, loathing how his voice sounded.
+ E-S +
If you asked Magnus what was the most important element in a plan, he would likely ignore you or otherwise navigate his way out of the question.
But if you somehow managed to obtain an honest answer from the evasive boy, his educated answer could be summarised in a single, very Slytherin word.
Deception.
Show your strengths as weaknesses, your weaknesses as strengths. And above all else, make sure that your plan is nothing he would expect.
Magnus achieved this result by creating multiple layers off plots and strategies, with varying degrees of subtlety, in order to project a façade of deception that would lure his opponent into thoughts of victory.
After all, the first step toward tricking someone, is to make him believe he is smarter than you.
The boy found it easy to sneak out of the common room despite the attentive watch of a teacher and the perfects. They couldn't be blamed, however, every single Ravenclaw was currently in the room for obvious reasons.
It was also because they were more focused on keeping students from leaving the tower than on stopping any adventurous student from roaming the safe area. Which was exactly what he was doing, leaving the tower after provoking one of the most dangerous 'people' around was little more than madness.
He made his way to Flitwick's study, where the man would doubtlessly be enchanting more and more equipment for the hunt.
It was a hard task involving many a discipline in magic, from arithmancy to ancient runes with rather large aspect of charmwork. The magical inscription of a long-term spell-effect on objects was rare skill which the half-goblin charm teacher mastered beyond all teachers in Hogwarts, save for Dumbledore, perhaps.
The old man was simply a different kind of beast.
He didn't have to knock, as Flitwick's doors were wide open while the man waved his wand with both speed and precisions. He transfigured, summoned and charmed in ways Magnus could only dream about, making the notoriously complex task seem like child's play.
"What is the matter, Magnus? You better have a mighty good reason not to be in the common room, young man." Asked the professor, noticing the unexpected presence of the student.
"ì don't know." Magnus shrugged "Does finding the chamber of secrets qualify as a good reason?"
"Mr. Arran." Called Flitwick.
"Yes?" he answered.
"Tell me everything."
+E-S+
- Magnus POV:
Dumbledore's office was, much like it's owner, an oddity on many levels.
Of course, I was in no position to criticize someone on such matters, but there was something about the many clicking, shifting and shining contraptions. The books and artefacts placed in more or less order and care, while a bowl of lemon flavoured candies sat on his desk, amidst unholy amounts of paperwork that made the room insanely weird…and it's a reincarnated wizard saying that.
It was awesome.
What was considerably less brilliant though, was the situation we were in.
"Mr. Arran." Called Albus I-wear-weird-clothes Dumbledore. "Fillius has told us about your theory."
Ah, using open statements to establish superiority and push me toward revealing more information in order to avoid the dreadful silence. I'm almost feeling nostalgic…almost.
"Of course, he did." I said simply, refusing to humour him with expected reactions.
I already spent a whole year walking on eggshells, fearing the ire of the supreme Mugwump and his relatively justified paranoia. Now that I am free of his suspicions, there's no way I'd willingly subject myself to this torture.
"I would like to hear your thought personally, Mr. Arran." He conceded, not that irked with the failure of his mind games. "Make sure to mention every detail, no matter how trivial it might seem, it could be the key to solve this mystery."
"Yes, Headmaster." I nodded, looking at Flitwick, Snape and Professor McGonagall. The latter two were summoned by the headmaster after Flitwick brought me here for the customary interrogation.
"I started investigating the chamber of secrets subsequently to the first incident, which is how I discovered the real nature of the attacks." I said "But the location of the chamber was even harder to deduce, and I probably wouldn't have if nor for a lucky incident."
"What do you mean?" Asked Snape, the old bat's animosity ceased some time ago.
"A few days after the year started, I had the debatable fortune to find myself in the second floor's abandoned washroom. I encountered Moaning Myrtle there, the ghost which haunted it." I narrated, as Dumbledore's eyes shone in recognition.
"She was friendly enough, and I almost forgot about it." I said "But when I started researching the first opening of the chamber, I discovered that the student casualty was none other than Myrtle; who was killed while crying in the lavatories."
The teachers shot a look to Dumbledore, who nodded grimly, confirming the veracity of my words.
"You think that the entrance of the famed Chamber of Secrets is hidden in abandoned lavatories?" Said Snape, justifiably irked by the thought.
"I am almost certain it is, professor." I nodded, before admitting the obvious. "Though I have no proof but my memory, and instinct."
Before the potion master could shoot down my theory, preferring to wait for the arithmancy teacher to determine the position of the beast over humiliating the image of Slytherin by humouring this idea, Dumbledore stood up from his seat.
"We should at least consider the possibility." Said the headmaster "Many times, our intestines manage to understand concepts that elude our brains."
This…is a bizarrely true statement.
"Investigating the washrooms won't do any harm." Nodded McGonagall, stern faced and wand in hand.
It warmed my heart to see that she didn't doubt my words on second, immediately taking my proposition in stride and rushing to verify it.
Another good thing about the end of this crisis would be the return of our customary teas, which we regretfully gave up for obvious reasons.
"The three of us will be enough for an investigation, Fillius." Said Dumbledore to the charm teacher "You should finish the preparation for the Basilisk, I have the feeling that it will be needed soon."
'Oh, how right you are'. I repressed a chuckle at the thought.
My head of house nodded, quickly leaving for the Ravenclaw tower where he would finish his duties. Flitwick care a lot about duties, a regard I share and thus rightfully admire.
And I doubtlessly would admire it even more…if he didn't forget me here.
I looked from the transfiguration teacher to the Potion Master and the headmaster, and they soon understood my predicament.
"It looks like you will have to come with us, Magnus." Said the Dumbledore.
"Albus!" berated McGonagall, rightfully worried about my well-being if my suspicions about the room were correct; which she knew that they usually were.
'Yup, she's that awesome.' I had a hard time keeping a smile of my face. The emerald clad witch, unlike most people who claimed it, genuinely cared about those close to her; and I couldn't be prouder to say that I figured among this restrained circle.
"It is too dangerous to let him go back on his own." Argued Dumbledore "And we might benefit from a younger outlook."
The witch looked conflicted, before ultimately ignoring of the most politically powerful wizards to look at me, worry clear in her eyes.
"I could always bring you back." She proposed, speaking softly in a way that contrasted with the image most people had of her.
'Bunch of fools' I thought rightly, people did indeed have an inclination toward stupidity.
"I'll go with you." I spoke up, my answer was exactly what she expected, from the way she sighed. And exactly what the old goat hoped for, if the increased twinkle level was any indication…greater good, and all that stuff.
We made our way through Hogwarts exceptionally empty corridors, using a few shortcuts allowed us to arrive in the second floor's lavatories in no time.
The abandoned washroom was as crass as I remembered it, broken tiles on the floor. Grim and filth conquering the rundown place and discouraging anyone from lingering here, if the rather troublesome ghost was not enough dissuasion that is.
'It looks like the kind of place students would shag in.' I thought, positively shuddering at the non-existent decency and romanticism of my old world.
It was one of the many oh so wonderful results of the normalisation of sex, and relationships at large. Deviating it from its previous pedestal as an intimate and meaningful relation and reducing it to common, rather unimportant things.
Actually, having it somehow became more important than with whom or how you had it, which in turn led to the creation of many a twisted mockery of what it should be. Trouples and polyamorous relationships, the proliferation of cheating and its actual normalization in some instances come to my mind.
But fortunately, that was neither here nor there, as I had more important matters to settle. Namely, a silver-blushing ghost that was partial to dashing young men like your truly.
"Hello myrtle." I said, my lips quirking up.
"Magnus, you came to see me!" she positively vibrated as she said it, another trait of incorporeal beings I guessed.
"And you brought…people with you." She added, her tone less enthusiast as she eyed the old goat, stern teacher and snivelling bat. "I'd like it better if you came alone."
"I'm sorry about that myrtle, but we came here for important matters. I would like to ask you some questions about the circumstances of your death." Interrupted Dumbledore with uncharacteristic urgency.
'Well, talk about blunt.' I thought, his grey eyes were scanning the room for any hint about the chamber. His wand, the death stick, was in his hand as he cast many an investigation charm with neither movement nor incantation.
I couldn't recognise a tenth of the spells he cast, and could barely cast a third of those. Frankly, I wouldn't have noticed if not for my higher sensibility to magic.
"What for?" She bit the words, a scowl adorning her almost gaseous features. "I would rather not talk about it."
I knew for a fact that she didn't mind the tale as much she minded the company, Myrtle was strangely enthusiast about the telling of her death's story. Relishing in the attention it brought her, no matter how ephemeral it was bound to be.
"I know how painful it must be to remember it, myrtle. But the chamber was opened once more, and many a student fell to the evil that harmed you." Said Dumbledore, looking at ghost's eyes to convey the importance of the situation "Your memories could be crucial in dealing with this threat once and for all, which is why I must insist."
Myrtle looked conflicted between her justified discomfort with the old goat, as opposed to dashing young men, and her desire for revenge, something that called to her nature for she was fickle and easy to slight and thus prone to lust for revenge.
Eventually, she seemed to decide that long bearded headmasters and scowling bats was something she could suffer if it meant retribution as she started narrating the events that led to her death, relishing in the attention for every single second.
"It was dreadful. It happened right here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well, I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying when I heard somebody come in. they said something funny, probably a different language, I think." She said with an almost nostalgic look on her face, a look at my older companions showed that they shared a measure of my discomfort.
"Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then…I died." She positively beamed as she finished her tale.
Yup, not creepy at all.
"Myrtle, did this language sound like hissing?" Asked McGonagall, nonplussed by the eccentricity of the fourteen years old ghost who was technically older than her.
"Huh." Was the girl's intelligent answer. "Yes. Now that you mention it, it did sound a bit like a snake hissing. Dreadful, I tell you."
The teachers nodded gravely, exchanging looks as her tale coincided with my theory, at least confirming that it was indeed a basilisk. But it was not nearly enough for my plan to go swiftly, another push is needed.
"Did anyone suspicious come here?" I asked, unsure if they would think about the admittedly obvious question. It wouldn't shock me.
Wizards and common sense were incompatible, in many cases.
"I don't have much visitors." The ghost admitted "Beside you and those who enter by mistakes, no one come to see poor myrtle…though there was that small first year that was fairly strange."
When a horny magical ghost who enjoys speaking about her own death tell you someone was 'fairly strange', you better believe it.
"Could you elaborate, please?" Asked Dumbledore.
"Well, she came here a bit before Halloween. A small Gryffindor ginger with loads of freckles, probably a first-year. She was really rude, and a bit scary too." She told us frowning, ghosts had a hard time remembering everything, even if it was recent. "I didn't like her much, so I took a stroll in the lake…I think she also spoke in that hissing foreign tongue."
"Weasley." Said Snape, quick to accuse the Gryffindors. Though in this case, it was a correct assumption.
"Severus, this is no light accusation." Admonished him Dumbledore, before McGonagall could rip the potion master a new orifice for the transgression.
I took advantage the ensuing discussions, as they debated the exactitude of the information and somehow managed to include the boy-who-lived in the story; with him being a parceltongue and thus a prime suspect with these new information's.
"Professor." I called them, interrupting the now heated debate. "You should probably see this."
"Morgana." Breathed McGonagall in mic of dread and relief, the two others weren't much better.
Engraved on one of the sinks was a coiling snake, absent in every other. Snake, which also happened to be the symbol of Slytherin, whose heir and beast we were hunting down.
"I believe we found the entrance to the chamber of secrets." Dumbledore sighed, his face grimmer than I'd ever seen it.
"Now all that is left is to enter, once we are ready." Said Snape, eager to return to the preparation. "We should seal the lavatories as precaution, and investigate the Weasley girl."
"I'm afraid this will be harder than you think, Severus. The enchantments were placed by the Salazar Slytherin himself are still strong, it will take much time before I weaken them enough to attempt an intrusion." Dumbledore said, as he cast many a diagnosis charm
"Or you could use our friendly neighbourhood parseltongue to try and open it?" I proposed.
Needless to say, they were very open to the idea. Or so I was told, since McGonagall did not tolerate my presence in the most dangerous room in the castle for even a second longer. She promptly escorted me back to the Ravenclaw tower, leaving with nothing more than a quick hug before returning to her duties.
Animating a few more animunculi wouldn't hurt, after all. Tom Riddle and his basilisk were tricky opponents, and every advantage had to be taken.
"Hello." I said, as I faced the now silent Ravenclaws in the common room. In their eyes was a shared glint of curiosity, barely repressed by the limits of human decency.
'Fuck.'
Dealing with the fractured soul of a dark lord and his deadly magical serpent was hard business, but dealing with a horde of curious bookworms with magic on their side…now that's scary.
"Magnus." I heard the familiar voice of one Padma Patil.
"Padma."
"Care to explain why the headmaster called you to his office?"
"Do I have a choice?" I asked, finding some amusement in the situation.
"No." Was her dry answer.
"That's what I thought" I sighed, keeping my voice low. "I may or may not have figured out how the heir petrified the students, before finding the possible entrance of the chamber of secrets…it's a long story."
"We have the time." Answered Penelope Clearwater, the Ravenclaw prefect I was rather fond off, while the other students nodded.
'Yup, it's going to be a long day.' I thought, justly.
+E-S+
It was indeed, a long day for everyone in the castle.
I had to deal with the collective curiosity of house Ravenclaw, which meant an absurd amount of details and a debate which I had no hope of escaping. I managed to earn myself some more political power, which was welcome even though I hardly had any use for such currency by this point.
It was the way of house Ravenclaw, while the Gryffindors would acclaim you for charging heroically to defeat the heir, Rowena's house saw more glory in figuring out this whole matter without endangering yourself.
I could have ignored them completely, or weaved an excuse to satisfy them. But it would have been eventually pulled apart, and perhaps served to alienate me furthermore from my house when such things should only make me more respectable in their eyes.
All in all, not worth it.
I wasn't the only one who had a hard time, however, as one Ginevra weasley had been pulled from the Gryffindors dorms and stunned when she tried to attack professor McGonagall with a curse she should no business knowing.
Among her possessions was found a cursed diary, which possessed her and forced her to commit atrocious actions. Dumbledore eventually recognised it as foul magic of the worst sort and used a controlled Fiendfyre to destroy it, thus freeing the poor girl from its vile influence.
And just like that, whatever scheme Tom might've fomented to destroy me, after I lured him out with Mr. Lockhart's oblivious help to distract him, was rendered void.
Tom Riddle was no more, all that was left were other shards of Voldemort that would eventually be dealt with.
The Basilisk hunt was even more anticlimactic.
Hundreds of roosters, magically compelled to crow, were brought to Hogwarts by Hagrid, under the deputy headmistress's instructions, and unleashed all over the school. Many of them were released in the chamber of secrets, which was opened by a perfectly safe Harry Potter escorted by the teaching body before being promptly taken back.
A few hours later, a fifty feet long Basilisk was found dead in the chamber of secrets by Hogwarts staff. Their precautions were thus in vain, but none could bring themselves to care when they saw the size of the beast, it was utterly terrifying.
There was no great battle, no damsel in distress and certainly no glory there. Simply cold logic and deductions, a dance of deception and precaution which followed the rhythms of one silent observer, eagle eyed, who became famed across the school for piercing the mystery of the chamber…though they didn't know that.
The chamber of secrets was closed, and i kept my word.
-------------------------------------------------
Hey guys! It's Uncle Sheo!
This chapter was damn long, wasn't it? I know i haven't been very present these days...okay, i was completely absent, but i had good reasons! I had my exams these days, and the most important one of my life will be in roughly two months, while i am not prepared at all.
I had to cram and work which messed up my rhythm, and the time i could use to write is spent resting and recovering from the torture that is education in my country.
Anyway, i love you guys, except you frank, and hope you've been alright.
Peace and Cheese!
