I'm not J. K. Rowling. Considering how she butchered our ship, I think that can be considered a good thing.
I have free-flowing ideas for Memories in my Blood, and plot ideas for at least three other fics, and yet I'm having difficulty trying to make a decent length chapter for this fic. What's up with that?
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Chapter 5 - The Invisible Hand
Two days had passed since the incident at the dueling club. His newfound Parseltongue abilities combined with the recent attacks, Harry was widely considered by the student population as the heir of Slytherin, and was given a wide berth for it. Harry, for his part, didn't mind being left alone, although the nervous stares that people kept sending his way was starting to grate on his nerves.
While eating breakfast, Hedwig swooped in with a letter in her beak. Harry took the letter and fed Hedwig a piece of bacon before she flew off in to the owlery. He opened it to see Sirius' messy scrawl.
Hey kid, how are you holding up?
So you're a Parselmouth, eh? Normally, I would consider that cool, but this is neither the time nor place.
I recognize how the attacks are happening. They remind me of stories I heard from your Grandfather Potter about attacks happening at Hogwarts about fifty years ago. I remember him saying that a girl died that time, but I can't for the life of me remember what her name was. I'll have to do some digging.
On a lighter note, Morgan is beginning to lift her head up on her own. Pretty soon she'll be crawling! Kids, they grow up so fast.
Mom's taking a nap and Remus is job hunting again, but they send their love.
Hope to see you on Christmas. But until then, keep your wits about you, and don't let the others get to you.
Love, Dad.
Harry showed his letter to the others, and Hermione stood up.
"The library has an archive of old Prophets," she said. "We should go five years before and after fifty years before this year, but something like that would be front-page news, so it shouldn't be too hard to find." The other three gaped at her.
"`Shouldn't be too hard to find?!'" Michael yelled incredulously. "Hermione, the Daily Prophet is a daily newspaper, hence the name. That'd be over four thousand papers we'd have to search!" Hermione huffed, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at him.
"Well, that means that we should get started then," she said matter-of-factly before grabbing her bag and stomping off to the library. Sighing, the other three Marauders cleaned off their plates as quickly as possible before following her.
At the library, in the particularly dusty corner where the newspapers were kept, the Marauders were scanning the headlines.
"Okay, nothing for February 12," Harry sighed as he rolled up the paper and slid it back into its respective slot on the shelf. "I got to go to the loo, I'll be back," he added as he walked out of the library. Halfway to the nearest bathroom, Harry accidentally bumped into Justin Finch-Fletchey.
"I can trace my lineage back fifteen generations, you know!" Finch-Fletchey yelled out of the blue. Harry turned towards him, his eyebrows raised.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
"I can trace my pureblood lineage back fifteen generations, and both the people that you've petrified were Muggleborn, so you can't hurt me," Finch-Fletchey said smugly. Harry began laughing at the Hufflepuff boy.
"My mother, my stepmother and my best friend are all Muggleborn," Harry said, "do you really think I give a damn about things like blood? But hey, whatever helps you sleep at night," he continued before turning around to go to the bathroom.
After searching through two years worth of newspapers, the Marauders decided to take a break. They walked passed Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where they noticed water on the floor again. Hermione and Blaise went inside to see what had happened while the boys waited outside. When they returned, Hermione was holding a small, black, dripping book.
"Myrtle was crying because, apparently, someone threw this at her," Hermione said, holding up the sopping wet book. Harry took it and flipped through it. The water must have washed the ink away, since it looked like nothing had ever been written in it. He looked at the front and it said in loopy gold writing, This is the diary of T. M. Riddle. Harry squeezed the book to wring some of the water out before putting it in his pocket.
"Why would Myrtle mind if someone threw a book at her?" Michael asked. "I mean, she's dead, she wouldn't feel anything." The two girls shrugged.
"We figured it wasn't a good idea to ask," Blaise admitted. "We all know how sensitive she can be." While the others nodded in agreement, Harry heard a familiar hissing echoing through the walls.
"Hungerrrrrrr…I feel hungerrrrrrrrr…" it hissed.
"The voice, it's back," Harry said, following it as it echoed down the corridor, his friends following.
"I smell flesssssssssssshhhh…I smell bloooooooood…" the phantom voice continued as the Marauders chased after it. "Fresssssssssssshhh meat…" it growled hungrily. A minute later, they heard two distant screams. They picked up the pace on their running to find Justin Finch-Fletchey, lying on the ground petrified, and next to him, the still, hovering form of the Gryffindor ghost Nearly-Headless Nick.
In their shock, no one noticed the trail of spiders crawling out the window.
That night, the four children returned to the Gryffindor Common Room after a long afternoon in the library.
"Nothing! Six hours of searching, and we find nothing," Hermione fumed. "You would think that there'd be some kind of snake out there that could petrify people, but noooo, all magical gazes simply kill. URGH!" she groaned in frustration.
"Tell me again why we think it's a snake," Blaise said, still not quite understanding their reasoning.
"A snake is the most logical explanation, because Harry is hearing things that we can't, and we already know that he's a Parselmouth," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "But, of course, it could be something else, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow," she admitted sullenly. She looked up at Harry, who was staring at Riddle's diary. "Harry, that silly old book can wait, we've got more important things to worry about."
"I know," Harry said, not looking away. "But this book…I seem drawn to it somehow." Everyone looked at him nervously while he set the book down. "It's starting to creep me out."
"Here," Hermione said, flicking her wand and muttering a revealing spell. The book shuddered for a moment, but then became still, and nothing appeared. Then she took a revealing rubber and rubbed the pages vigorously with it, but still nothing appeared.
"Try writing in it and see what happens," Michael suggested. Having no better ideas, Harry unscrewed a bottle of ink and dipped his quill in it, writing "hi" in the center. To everyone's surprise, the word sank into the page, to be replaced with another "hi" in response, but in an unfamiliar handwriting. Looking at everyone, who had begun hovering over his shoulders, Harry dipped his quill and wrote, My name is Harry Potter.
Hello, Harry, my name is Tom Riddle, the diary "wrote" back.
"Ask it about the Chamber of Secrets," Blaise suggested. Harry wrote the question down into the diary, and eagerly awaited its response.
Yes. Excitement welling up within him, Harry asked if Riddle could tell him about it.
No. Harry's excitement immediately became disappointment. But I can show you. The book started to glow from the binding, and within seconds, all four Marauders were blinded by light, only to find themselves standing in an unfamiliar corridor. They saw the image of a young man, presumably Tom Riddle, dressed in Slytherin colors, watching as two aurors carried a covered body away on a stretcher.
"Mister Riddle," an aged voice said behind them. Riddle, as well as the Marauders, turned to see a younger Albus Dumbledore standing behind them. "Headmaster Dippet has decided that you should be given an award for services to the school for helping to resolve this matter," he said half-heartedly.
"I thank you for informing me, Professor Dumbledore," Riddle said, flashing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I only regret that the girl died before we could figure it out."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said. He eyed Riddle analytically, and Riddle retaliated with an emotionless stare. "Are you hiding something, Tom?"
"No, sir," Riddle said flatly. "Nothing." Somehow, the Marauders knew that he was lying. Apparently satisfied with this answer, Dumbledore nodded his head and left. As soon as the older man disappeared, Riddle took off down a hallway, the Marauders hot on his heels.
Riddle threw a door open to show a tall man, hidden in shadows and talking down at something in front of him.
"You've really done it this time, Hagrid," Riddle said, pointing his wand at the taller man. "You're going to be expelled. You and your little pet."
"No!" Hagrid shouted. "Aragog wouldn't hurt nobody!"
"We all know about your fondness for dangerous pets, Hagrid," Riddle said in a patronizing tone. "How you keep trying to sneak chimera eggs under your bed. When the aurors come, who do you think they'll believe? You, a bumbling fool who can barely pass his grades, or me, a prefect, and recent awardee for services for the school? I think you know the outcome. Now step aside, Hagrid!"
"No!" Hagrid shouted, but accidentally knocked over a box behind him, and a large black spider came scuttling out.
"Arania exhumae!" Riddle shouted, but he missed, and the spider crawled away into the shadows. Suddenly, the Marauders found themselves thrown back into the Gryffindor Common Room. They all looked to Hermione and Harry, the two smartest members of their little group.
"I don't think that there are any species of Acromantula that can petrify people," Harry said.
"There aren't," Hermione confirmed. "The closest they have is complete physical paralysis, but you need to be bitten for that, and no one's been sporting spider bites. Besides, you can't bite a ghost." Nodding, Harry dipped his quill in the ink and wrote another message. That's an interesting show, but there's one problem. The reply didn't come immediately, almost as if the diary were hesitating.
What sort of problem? It asked. Grinning, Harry scribbled down his answer.
Acromantulas don't petrify people. Without waiting for a response, Harry rekindled the fire and threw the book into it.
"Well, I don't know about you, but that wore me out, so we'll try again tomorrow?" All nodding and humming in agreement, they said their goodnights and walked back to their respective dormitories.
If they had remained, they might have noticed that while it sat within the flames, the diary would not burn.
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