#guess whose red paint spilled onto the next page

[ado-mi]

Day 7 : Exhausted

I curse my red paint for spilling over ;D

[glitterbootsharry]

Chapter One- Hocus Pocus

Disclaimer: I do not know much about witchcraft or anything associated with it besides the few tv shows and movies I have seen. If I have gotten anything wrong or mixed up, please feel free to let me know. I want to get as much right as I can as I have done some research, but I know I do not know a lot. 

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It’s a cliché, but a cliché nonetheless. My world changed at the blink of an eye- the opening of a café door. I go there every morning on my way to class; it’s the only one near campus that isn’t too terribly crowded. The one on campus is a nightmare on a good day, but on term week? You might as well hang out over night to get a decent spot in the queue. And yet, I never saw her there, her raven-like hair shining in the window, until today.

She sat in the corner table by the window with her nose stuck in a book. Her chocolate hair neatly curled in waves with a frizzy braided headband from her own hair lay atop her head. She was a host to an empty coffee cup that sits alone on the dark wood table. If I'm going to be honest, she made me queasy. Sick at the stomach. Her brown eyes scan each page quickly before she eventually grabs her pen and orange highlighter to encompass whatever Edgar was speaking to her at the moment. I couldn’t take my eyes off her- her olive tanned skin, her dark hair, her bright eyes. She was everything that beautiful could endure.

She sighs as she sips the last remanence of coffee, half of it spilling on her crisp white shirt. She hastily placed the cup down before pushing the book further up to her face.

I’m up next in line. I ask for a simple black coffee and a refill for the girl in the corner- the one whose bookmark is a rose. The counter girl looks at me strangely before pushing the few buttons to ring up my order. She flutters her eyes at me as I run my card through the reader and says it will be a few moments. I wait by the other end of the counter, closer to my mystery girl. The universe could come to a crashing end and she wouldn’t know with her head stuck so far into the book. From the corner of the paperback, I can see she’s chewing on the inside of her lip. Whatever story she’s reading, she’s there imagining the world lay about her. The counter girl walks past me and gently lays the black coffee in front of her with the small cup of creamer. She clears her throat making the book girl look up.

“I didn’t order this,” she says. Her voice is melodic to my ears. Her eyes scan the room when the counter girl says that I bought it for her. I stuff my hands in my navy pea coat before walking over to her. The counter girl says, “I put your amount of sugar in there already. Just needs creamer.” She smiles and nods her head at me, completely ignoring the girl at the table, before walking back to her station.

“Some light reading, I see? No one really reads Poe anymore,” I say, a smile growing on my face. I feel like an idiot. Without my hands leaving my pockets, I motion to the empty chair in front of her. “May I?”

She doesn’t say a word, only goes back to her reading. I take her silence as consent and wait for my coffee to arrive. She pours the entire contents of the creamer into the cup and swirls the white liquid until the coffee turns into the hazel color she prefers. “What’s your favorite story? Or poem?” My leg bounces under the table when she looks at me with a glare that could kill. “Mine’s The Raven. Poem would be Annabell Lee.”

She looks back at her book when my coffee arrives. I sip slowly, hoping this agony would end soon. I don’t want to walk away from her until she leaves. That would be quite rude. We sit in silence, she ever so seldom sipping on the coffee I bought her.

“Tale-Tell Heart and Alone,” she finally says, breaking the silence between us. She still has the book in her face, but I can see that she’s looking at me over the black binding.

“Ah, she speaks. Was beginning to wonder if you were mute or something,” I laugh slightly, but she does not. I feel my cheeks get hot as I clear my throat, sipping my coffee again. “For all that I have loved, I have loved alone.”

She makes a noise from her throat as the book slowly begins to lower. She has a black hoop hanging from her nose and earrings all up her ear. Small tattoos above both elbows and wrists. There is one behind her ear that creeps onto her neck. My guess is that she finally knows that I am not going anywhere until she does. I extend my hand across the table, hoping she would take it. She slowly extends her, watching the people around look at us. “Name’s Harry Styles.”

“Rowan Lloyd,” she whispers. She quickly takes her hand away after I shake it once. “You a student at the university?”

“Yeah,” I scoff as I rub the back of my neck, something I’ve always done when my anxiety is up. “English major. You?” She nods, not telling me what her field of study is. “Well, I want to be a writer. I’ve got a talent for it, but lack the skills I guess. That’s what my mum says. Anyways, is there a chance I could get your number? We could hang or-”

“I don’t do that,” she says, pushing her book into her book bag. She pulls out a set of car keys and sets them on the table.

“Can I ask why?” I’m watching her every movement, drinking her in. I don’t want to forget her.

“No, look I got to go. Thanks for the coffee, but don’t do it again, alright? You seem lovely, but it’s not you, it’s me.” With that, she walked out of the small coffee shop and got into a green car that had seen better days, driving away. She broke up with me before we even started.

“Don’t fret it,” a guy slides into Rowan’s seat. He must have been watching the catastrophe from afar. “She’s a weird one. Doesn’t get on with most students. Rumor has it, her family is nothing but devil worshippers and witches.” I snort, not believing such nonsense.

“Yeah right.”

****

I sit in the middle of the classroom- not too far back that I don’t pay attention, but not up front to where all eyes were on me. I like being in the middle, knowing I’m not vulnerable to such idiocies. Students are piling in, taking their seats, chatting away at their newfound friends when Rowan walks in, still wearing her coffee stained white shirt. She scans the room for an empty seat. I wave at her, but she ignores me. I know she saw me- the panic in her eyes tells me so. She finds a seat by the window that faces the small garden on the grounds. She pulls out her book and lays the rose on her desk when she begins to read, small tendrils of dark hair fall in her face.

The professor walks in, her heels clicking against the tile floor. She calls out attendance, and when she asks for Rowan, all she does is raise her hand, still reading Poe. She introduces herself as Doctor Murray.

“You have a paper due by the end of term on what you learned during our time together. I expect it to be no less than five pages,” Dr. Murray says with a handful of groans and panic following. “For now, I will be pairing two of you up to complete our first project. Shakespeare. Really dig deep into his words, you all. Read not just what’s on the paper, what he’s saying, but read between the lines, read the words he doesn’t speak. I would like a presentation on how the past has and will affect modern literature.” Dr. Murray calls out last names in pairs. I try to steady my heart, but every time I look over at Rowan, her nose is buried deeper into the book. It was the last two names that were paired together that made me nauseous. “Styles, Lloyd. You two will have The Tempest. Good luck.”

“Witch,” someone calls out from the back. A ball of paper is thrown at her, but misses greatly. “Perfect play for you, devil worshipper.”

“Williams, do we have a problem?” Dr. Murray asks, quirking her brow. Her eyes look over her half-rimmed spectacles to the young boy in the back corner. “If you have a problem, please take it up with them outside my class, not in.”

Dr. Murray clears her throat before dismissing us. “Be careful, Styles, you might come back as a toad,” the same voice talks down to me when I look up. It’s a man about my age and he’s still wearing a jacket from college.

“Haven’t got the slightest clue what you’re on, mate. Just doing a project is all,” I smile and push past him. I try to catch up to Rowan, but she’s descending down the stairs quickly as a group of students block me. It isn’t until we’re in the car park that I spot her again. “Rowan!” I run to catch up with her; she’s hunting for her keys next to her car. “Rowan, hey. I just want to say that I’m really excited about-”

“Come off it, will you?” She looks up at me with hurtful eyes. She’s nearly in tears and I don’t know what to say. Her car isn’t the same as I last saw it. “What do you want? Call me names? Want me to recite some spell you made up? What do you want?”

“N-Nothing, I just wanted to know when you wanted to get together,” I cup her elbow with my hand, “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” she sighs as she wipes the tears from her cheeks. She looks at the mess on her car. Someone had painted “Witch” on the back windshield in red paint before pulling toilet paper around the car. I sigh, setting my bag on the pavement before gathering the useless prank off Rowan’s car. I try my best to wipe up the paint so that she could see, but it’s partially already dried. “Thank you. I guess you’ll be needing my number after all.” I place my hand back on her elbow. She’s frozen with anger and sadness.

She gives me her number, her black nails hovering over the piece of paper.

“Why do they call you that? Witch?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.

“Just some teasing they do. I figured after college it would end, but it seems that London’s a massive gossip parasite. Who would have known?” Rowan rolls her eyes and shifts her book bag on her shoulder.

“Why? Witches aren’t real,” I smile trying to ease the joke in. Of course, it’s all a big joke, right? “A bunch of Hocus Pocus?”

“Yeah,” she says with a firmness. She looks up at me and smiles softly.

“So do you want to come over to my flat or I come over to yours?” I ask, bouncing on my heels. She looks at me with reddened eyes before speaking.

“I don’t live in the city. I take online classes except for this one- I couldn’t get it online. I live just out in the countryside- just inside Shere in Surrey. It’s a small village, quite cozy, really, with my grandmother so your place will have to do for now, I guess.” A sudden look of fear and panic crosses her eyes, “Shit I forgot my flower.”

“Your rose?” I ask, wanting to touch her hair. I’m conscious that my hand is still on her elbow. “I can go get it for you, if you want me to.” The module will be filling up again, but I am willing to dive into dumpsters for that rose.

“No, it’s fine. I have more at home.”

“At home? You grow roses?” I quiz, my heart exploding in its cavity as she smiles at me.

“Yeah, I grow them. Among other things. So, um, Harry it was nice to meet you or whatever, but I’ve got to go. I’ll start reading tonight.” She turns, my hold on her fades, and I stand back as she reverses. Her eyes find me in the rearview mirror, in between the dried paint, and I could have sworn she winked at me.

It was when she left that I realized she didn’t have my number.

“Shit.”

####

@sunflwr-styles

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #6- Rung Has a Friggin’ Day

It’s time for therapy.

Finally.

It turns out that Ratchet didn’t forget about Fortress Maximus’ acts of extreme violence in all the chaos that was last issue, and requested that Fort Max get set up with some mandatory counseling. Of course, because it’s been about a week in Fort Max-time since Garrus 9 went down, he’s not exactly thrilled to talk about what happened. And who can blame him? Garrus 9 sucked big time for everyone involved, even Overlord.

Fort Max claims to not remember what happened- he’s lying, and we’re treated to a flashback that sort of justifies his fib- and Rung suggests they get Chromedome involved, which seems perhaps a bit unethical? To just rip traumatic memories that may or may not be repressed out of a guy’s head? Like, I’m not super well-versed in psychiatry, but that seems a little off.

Rung, in an attempt to make Fort Max feel a little safer, tells him that Overlord- though he doesn’t say his name, because triggering Fort Max could literally get people killed- was neutralized about as efficiently as possible for their species.

I can’t believe Cybertron has a better veteran healthcare system than the United States.

Enough of Fortress Maximus’ impending implosion, it’s time for bar shenanigans!

Over at Swerve’s, Trailbreaker is proving to be completely incapable of keeping his drink in his glass, as Chromedome participates in a game where he has to guess who’s transforming into their alt-mode, based purely on the sound. He gets it in one, and everyone loses their shit. Chromedome, never one to hype himself, takes the opportunity to instead build Rewind up, because he just loves him that much.

Fortress Maximus gets brought up, and while Trailbreaker thinks the guy’s a little overrated, the others have heard about what happened on Delphi, and proceed to learn the wrong lesson from the whole thing. Tailgate enters the scene, after a rousing study session with everyone’s favorite giant neurotic.

Tailgate, you fool! It’ll be another 41 issues before Cyclonus is ready to even acknowledge his feelings!

It’s good to know that Tailgate doesn’t hold any grudges over the info dump Rewind gave him the other day. Also, that table looks like a nightmare to clean.

Ultra Magnus walks in, looking about as cheery as he possibly can considering who he is, promptly arrests Swerve for running the bar without taking bureaucracy into account, and whisks the little jabber jaw away in handcuffs, practically carrying him off by the scruff like a kitten.

Fort Max enters the room, having decided to grab a drink after the ordeal that is mandatory therapy.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a day on the Lost Light without something going just a little screwy.

This is a typical Wednesday for Pipes.

Fort Max proceeds to wreck several robots, seemingly at random, though he somehow manages to not actually kill any of them. Intentional or not? We still have several pages of this issue to get through, hold your horses! All will be revealed in time.

Which brings us to now. Fort Max has locked himself in Rung’s office, alongside Rung and the poor sap who was unlucky enough to have had an appointment when the big guy showed up. Rodimus and Drift are trying to figure out just what the hell to do with this current situation. Magnus enters, having just set Swerve up with his punishment, and berates Rodimus for letting Fort Max run around with a gun, as if 90% of the crew doesn’t also have massive weapons literally built into their bodies.

Blaster gets a video feed from one of the surveillance cameras going, and we get a good look at just how fucked this whole thing has become, because as it turns out, Rung’s appointment for this time slot was none other than Whirl, instigator extraordinaire, and being stabbed by some ship piping has done absolutely nothing to slow his suicidal roll.

That gun is positively ridiculous. Where were you even KEEPING that thing, Max?

It only takes a couple of face-mashings with the barrel of the BFG to get Whirl to back off, accomplishing what Rung simply cannot, because Whirl doesn’t play by the rules of anyone who values their life in any capacity. You’d think it’d take more than that to shut him up, but Whirl’s head is made of plot, so it’s a bit delicate.

Rung spots the camera, and decides to make himself useful by providing audio to this whole debacle, by way of his microphone thumb.

Now, a hostage situation just isn’t complete without some sort of demand in exchange for the safety of said hostages, and Fort Max has quite the doozy for Rodimus: he wants to go back to Cybertron, so he can confront Prowl on the slow response to the hell that was Garrus 9. Max was trapped there for over three years before the Wreckers came along, and it’s still pretty fresh for him because of the coma letting him skip a lot of time he could have spent healing.

Pro-tip: when handling a hostage situation, don’t get into a screaming match with the dude who’s about to shoot the only mental health specialist your race has ever managed to produce. Blaster gets it.

Rung is many things, but is no actor, as is made apparent by him holding his microphone thumb-bound hand in the most fucking conspicuous way possible. Fort Max notices- because how could he not?- and relieves Rung of this terrible burden.

Rung is really regretting not minoring in theatre right about now.

Hours later in the medibay, First Aid is proving to have gone mad with power, as he maintains some dangerously high snark levels while keeping the victims of Fort Max’s spree stable. Ratchet, whose hands are still Pharma-blue, is starting to piece together the reasoning behind who got shot.

That’s right, Fort Max was embarrassed that he showed up with the same color paint as all these guys, and tried to kill them to keep his fashion faux pas to a minimum.

Back in Rung’s office, Whirl’s dropped all pretense due to sheer boredom, and straight-up asks Fort Max to just get it over with and shoot them both. Having his thumb ripped off has made Rung a bit snippy, and he snaps at Whirl for the quip, before Max decides that he’s actually rather interested in just what Whirl’s appointment was going to cover. Rung tries to stymie this line of questioning, but he really ought to know not to get in the way of the plot progression at this point.

Whirl does decide to spill his beans, if only after Rung gets the obscenely large barrel of Max’s obscenely large gun pressed to one whole side of his face.

It turns out Whirl has depths to him, or at least he did, once upon a time. Before he got booted out of the Wreckers, before he was even in the Wreckers, he created as opposed to destroyed. More specifically, he was a watchmaker, good enough to find an audience in the time of Functionist Cybertron. Now, because he’s a helicopter, the guys up top weren’t too jazzed about Whirl not doing what he’d “been born to do,” on top of not giving them any of his sweet watch money, and decided to start fucking up his life to get him back in line. They started with tearing his shop to the ground.

But we’ll get to what the hell empurata is in a few issues.

Also, while Whirl’s been sharing his backstory, Rung managed to grab his model ship from off the floor.

I’m not sure how he managed to get ahold of his model without making a giant clumsy scene either, considering that’s his thumbless hand.

Rung, because he’s a clever man, is staring super hard at the camera and making kind of a weird face as he taps on the little windows of his model ship, signaling to Rodimus and crew to see what they can do with the windows outside of his office. He’s got three real big ones that let you see out- or in- the whole room. Rodimus makes a call, and we get a proper understanding of what Chromedome meant when he said Rewind was outside.

No kidding.

Rewind and Swerve are on rivet replacement duty, using rivet guns nearly as big as they are. Swerve’s passing the time idly chatting, because that’s his whole deal.

Knowing Swerve, that’s probably a joke, but given what we learn a few issues after this, on how exactly Cybertron handles those who don’t fall in line, I can’t help but wonder…

Okay, we know why Swerve’s out here, but what’s Rewind’s deal?

You remember those data discs Red Alert mentioned last issue, the ones Rewind was begging Chromedome to help him find? The ones he got from Swindle at the start of the series? Yeah, turns out those were chock-full of video footage of people dying.

Rodimus didn’t like the fact that Rewind had brought snuff films onto the Lost Light, and now here he is. We don’t get an explanation as to why he wanted the films in the first place, though he does integrate that it isn’t a pleasurable thing to watch. Rodimus calls, interrupting the conversation, and asks Rewind to take a walk.

Returning to the office, we find that Whirl’s really pouring it out now, giving us his whole life story.

Rung’s reaction here is equal parts sweet and sad. It’s like he’s never had a fucking friend in his entire life. Rung seems terribly lonely.

We also get the answer as to what exactly Whirl did to get kicked out of the Wreckers- he tried to mercy-kill Springer. After the events of Last Stand, Fort Max wasn’t the only one in a coma, and Whirl saw the writing on the wall in terms of Springer’s chances of recovery. He tried to put the guy out of his misery, but was caught and kicked to the curb before that could happen.

And that’s about where he stops. You know, if it weren’t for the whole “being held at gunpoint” thing, this would have been an amazing therapy session! Whirl really opened himself up today, I’m proud of him.

Fort Max realizes that the ship hasn’t turned around to head back to Cybertron, and that’s about the point where he decides it’s time to make good on his threat. Whirl volunteers as tribute, as Swerve and Rewind peek through the window, ready to enact the next phase of Rodimus’ plan.

Rung tries to deescalate, with Whirl reescalating in equal measures, because he is actively and violently suicidal at this point, bringing us to a standstill in negotiations as Ratchet finally gets ahold of Rodimus to tell him something very important.

Ratchet’s sussed out the central pin in this pegboard of PTSD, and it’s Overlord. Every guy Fort Max put in the ICU looked at least somewhat like that lippy bastard. Rung comes to a similar conclusion on his end, claiming that Fort Max is acting out because he went through hell at Overlord’s hand, and wants payback.

Outside the office, Rewind is lining up to shoot Fort Max with his rivet gun, though he has his reservations.

It’s a special kind of love that makes you want your husband to support you through sniping a guy five times bigger than you.

Rewind’s lining up the shot, when Fort Max moves behind a pillar. Time for Plan B.

Rodimus, you can’t just SAY that to him, he’s a married man.

Whirl’s egging Fort Max on, his eye flaring out in a way that one might consider to be crying, though if you asked him he’d absolutely deny it. Then Garrus 9 pays everyone a little visit, by way of Rewind’s camera projecting on the wall. This freezes Fort Max in his tracks, because of course it would. That shit’s terrifying. He breaks down, falling to the floor in a heap.

I suppose this is one way to handle a hostage situation. Rodimus, not wanting to take any chances, orders Swerve to take the shot anyway.

Safe to say, Swerve wasn’t top of his class at the military academy.

As Fort Max mourns the loss of Rung, Whirl yanks that pipe that’s been stabbed into his belly for the last several hours out, and returns the favor, getting Max right in the chest.

Shit.

All those fucking therapy appointments are going to have to be rescheduled. There are over 200 robots on this ship.

I sure hope Rung had a secretary to handle all that.

Later on, after the messy stuff’s been dealt with, Rodimus and Drift have a chat about Red Alert, and how he’s developing a potential to be a liability. As they talk, Red Alert is shown to be ripping the drill arm off that guy who got eaten by the quantum engine and using it to dig into the floor where he heard that super-slow voice. What does he find? I hope it’s treasure!

...That’s not treasure.

Hey, Rung?

Rung?

Buddy, I think someone might’ve been fibbing when they said that.

Nobody tell Fort Max about this.

[trazskil]

Creatures of the Night

The Land Between Worlds Anthology: Issue #5

The following is an excerpt of the transcription from the lost diary of the crone known as Sirael. Found shortly after she assassinated Mast, the last of the Messar Priests, and the massacre at the Docks some thirty miles outside of Ichiké. The book itself was found next to her corpse in an acceptable condition (much of her blood had spilled onto its pages). The ink, however, was found miraculously impeccable.

The diary itself was then placed carefully into a burlap sack (as to not touch the accursed blood, as even when dry can make one’s skin itch) and carried to an undisclosed location in Chalice to be purged of the poisonous red substance. Thanks to many brave souls we now know about many creatures of the night, an advantage we did not have before and have been using since to rid the world of such beings known as shapeshifters, wendigos, crones, and other like abominations.

Make no mistake, the crone who originally wrote the words you are about to read makes it seem as though we—humans and elves that is—are in the wrong. I find it my duty to inform you that Sirael is more than incorrect in this assumption. As a studied historian, I can assure you I know what I am talking about.

Notes are written in brackets by the mysterious man of few words known as Cedar. (That is all he allowed me to write about him here).

Enjoy,

-Professor D. D. Highfork

Telling, 33rd of Jin, 734 O.T.B. [O.T.B. means “Of The Barriers.” Some would argue it means something crude, but I can assure you it does not.]

Killing the priest was easier than I had anticipated. Not that getting into the chapel was difficult, nor was paying the boy to take all of his holy acid and dump it into the stream. I did more than half expect him to be carrying some sort of dagger—or at least a shiv—coated in holy acid. I was counting on it, in fact, so you can imagine my face as I strolled easily out of the chapel, leaving the poor bastard to choke.

Now, I’m off to the small town known as the Docks. One more errand I need to run before I make the journey back to Stregge. At least this time it’s an errand for my sisters and me. Not that I mind doing Dozii’s bidding, but I certainly cannot take his mundane orders all the time. [Dozii is one of the new gods known as the god of death, decay, destruction, etc. here in the Land Between Worlds. She has many names, however, and I do not just mean variations like; Doz, Doz’ll, Dozirii, Do, Doxill’m, etc. Her other names are too horrid to mention here, even in written text. Thus I refrain from doing so.] So simple all the time. “Kill this person.” “Kill  that person.” “Make sure no one sees you and your target knows who it’s coming from.” “This time, simply leave a note on the wall, painted in their daughter’s blood. They’ll back off.”

I have one word for you. Monotonous! Of course, it’s important work, but there’s no passion in it. No fun!

At least it’s almost over now, my master’s work, that is. Just one more task before it’s ready, but before we get on that, it’s off to the Docks. One little town has been a little too rude to our friends in the dark. Not to mention small towns always have the most bored young people, perfect for recruiting.

   Anyway, I’m getting off topic, and the sun will be up soon. Time for bed. Can’t be caught skulking around in the human’s and elves’ precious daylight! How I miss it though. The sun rejuvenating my skin would turn me back into the young, perky woman I was when I first started my life as a crone. But instead, I wear this saggy bag of bones. At least I have a Knockaround for such occasions that I do need to show myself in the daylight. Otherwise, it would look extremely odd shedding my saggy human-like skin and changing it for beautiful, soft baby-like skin.

       Tremm, 34th of Jin, 734 O.T.B.

       I passed a wraith this evening. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one, but this far out in the country I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised. We glanced at each other and went our separate ways. The wraith seemed to be having a splendid time waiting for someone to haunt, so I didn’t interrupt and continued my way toward the Docks. I’ll be there within an hour of nightfall. Perfect amount of time to set up and prepare.

   Leg, 1st of Minge, 734 O.T.B.

       Just before I began the night’s plans, I knew that I would need to change my appearance to something a little less…  disgusting. I pulled out my Knockaround and muttered a little something into it. In seven seconds I transformed into a beautiful, pale-skinned, raven-haired, woman. My lips were redder than any rose and my cheeks were flushed and full. I was ready.

It wasn’t hard finding the youth. Many snuck out to play hide and seek or go for a romp in the woods. Some were apprehensive, at first, meeting a stranger in the woods is hard to trust right off. When they heard what I had to offer, however, they could not refuse.

“Magic?” they all asked, a light burning in their eyes. “Real magic?”

In the seven total, there were three that stood out the most. Bronny was apprehensive and untrusting as a stray cat in Chalice. He didn’t want anything to do with, as he put it, “witchy things.” Good thing his friends were there. Nothing like good ol’ fashioned peer pressure.

   But once they got into it, Bronny didn’t hesitate and he showed his true colors. He even promised to bring his little brother sometime. I told him not yet and that they would need to wait until the time was right and if all went well, great things would happen to them.

   Kappie is my favorite. So bright and full of life. Hardly had to tell her what she needed to do. It was as if she was meant to be a crone. Too bad she probably won’t make it. Jemmy on the other hand, now she has the right stuff! Just as bright as Kappie, but ruthless and willing to do whatever it takes. The others, well, their names aren’t exactly worth mentioning. They’re more like pawns that will play exactly as I tell them. No need to push or pull. They’ll simply do.

   Now onto how I lured them in…

   It was late, well past midnight, the moon was nearly full and I had a full fire going. Over it, I hung my traveling cauldron and began to brew. Nothing sinister, just some herbs, spices, and rabbit meat that I had acquired earlier. I’m sure it smelled delicious because it drew Jemmy right to me. I told her a quick bit of folklore and shared my fire with her. She was so intrigued and her smile was so wide anyone could have seen it for miles.

   I asked her if she had any friends that might like to hear similar stories and have dinner around the fire with me. She nodded and bolted off into the night, returning minutes later with the entire slew of them. Oooh, I get giddy just thinking about it!

   I told them a few stories and had them eat all my stew and shared the warmth of my fire. Not that I would have wanted any of the food. Horrid stuff, cooked meat is. I’d much rather it raw, not alive, but raw. With blood dripping down my chin and neck. Yummy!

   Once they were satisfied, heads filled with fantasy [When she says fantasy, she refers to truth. There is often very little difference between the two.] and bellies full with food, I sent them off and invited them back tomorrow night. If all goes well, which it should—nothing could go as horribly as Glosvee a few years ago. What a catastrophe that was. [If you feel you must know what she refers to here, see Horrid Happenstances at Home by Berry Soule; pp. 254. The entry entitled Glosvee: A Town of Wretches will tell you everything you think you want to know.]

   Dozii, 2nd of Minge, 734 O.T.B.

   I’ve gained their trust.

   I showed them a bit of Tripping, what they call “magic” and they were all very impressed. [What is known as “Tripping” is a type of magic. I do not understand why she refuses to call it as such as it is just as much magic as a Knockaround is.] Even Bronny wants to learn something. So I taught them all… something. A Sparks Tripping. Nothing advanced, by any means, but it will definitely get the snowball rolling. Maybe even get some of them into trouble with the townsfolk. It will be interesting to see who comes back tomorrow night.

   I made sure each of them knew to not use the “magic” in the day time. Forbade it, in fact, but I know children and they will disobey. They will want to know why they shouldn’t use it in the day time and they will find out one way or another.

   I explained what they could use the sparks for; lighting a fire, creating a distraction, etc.  and warned them once again to not get caught by anyone, or else there would be trouble. We will see who is clever tomorrow, though. We will see who is clever and around my fire once more and we will see who is dead.

   Gathering, 3rd of Minge, 734 O.T.B.

   Only two were caught yesterday. Luckily not my favorite. But now there were only Jemmy, Bronny, and Kappie and two others whose names I have not bothered to learn. May they be caught quickly, so I have no need to worry about them. Bronny told me that their parents found them using the sparks. One was beaten to death and the other was drowned as an example to the rest of them.

   This bit of knowledge made me extra curious as to why Bronny was even still there. Jemmy and Kappie I understood. But Bronny? What was a skittish boy doing here with someone who is obviously a witch? Oh well, he’ll be gone soon and it won’t be my problem.

   The other two wanted to leave and never come back to my fire and I told them that it was their choice, but once I explained that the knowledge they knew was with them forever, they decided to stay. No sense in having only one piece of the puzzle…

   So tonight I taught them a little more. I asked them what each of them wanted to be able to do. If they could possess any one power, what would it be? Each one said something different, Bronny wanted to learn how to become invisible, so I taught him a Shadow Tripping. Kappie learned to further her pyromancy, so I showed her a Flame Tripping. The other two were boring and wanted as much candy as they could eat. But Jemmy? Jemmy wanted to learn how to bend people to her will.

   She was a little nervous about asking it of me and she did so in private so that none of her friends might hear what she had to say. But I taught them each what they wanted. One by one, I took them deep into the forest where we practiced for hours and hours and when the sun was beginning to rise, I sent them all home. No need for them to see my haggard old self. Besides, I needed to give the Knockaround a rest, mostly for my own sake.

[For those of you who are unfamiliar with Knockarounds; they are a type of amulet that almost anyone can use to transform one’s visage into something completely different, including clothing and gender. It takes immense amounts of concentration and the perfect knowledge of a dead language, the name of which, I cannot write here. Think of it as an entire wardrobe of disguises that weighs half a pound and is worth more than you want to pay. Trust me, even if you could afford to buy one of these relics, you wouldn’t want one. They attract the worst kind of attention from the worst kind of company.]

   I told them not to return tomorrow night as I will need to rest. And I do. Which means I will not be writing tomorrow for Sierra, 4th of Minge, 734 O.T.B. Great things are coming.

   Creddling, 5th of Minge, 734 O.T.B. (Day)

It’s been a while since I’ve walked around in daylight. If it wasn’t for my Knockaround, I don’t think it would be possible. Perhaps with a powerful bit of Tripping, but I have far better things to spend my energy on as it is.

The town known as the Docks goes without much description, but I’ll go into it a little anyway, for prosperity and all that.

The Docks is a one road town that has all its buildings on either side. Cottages, a smith’s forge, an abandoned church which appears to have been turned into a sort of townhouse. And at the end of it all, the docks for fishing craft and the occasional cargo import and export across the lake. [In case you don’t have a map handy or have never seen a map of the Land Between Worlds, the lake she is referring to here is Death’s Lake.]

A few people noticed me as I walked through their town, but hardly anyone said anything unless I approached them at their work. Then it was the usual greetings, but every so often there would be a, “Never seen you before.” or “Long way from home?” or “Piss off! I ain’t got time for strangers mucking about my business.” No need to take offense at this, so I kept going about my day. Waiting for something to happen.

It eventually did a couple of hours after midday. I was sitting at the docks, dangling my feet in the cool freshwater when a large group of people was causing quite the commotion. They made their way over to where I was sitting and—not wanting to get in the way—I slid to the back of the crowd to watch what I had been waiting for.

Two children were produced from the crowd, the same two who wanted endless amounts of sweets. They were terrified as the people whooped and hollered for testing. They threw the boy in first, his ankles bound together with a chord, the slack of which was tied to many stones he made a lame splash and the crowd waited.

They waited, and waited, and waited some more. Then, after about five minutes, they pulled the corpse out of the water and was declared not a witch. Next, was the girls turn because surely they must have gotten the sweets from somewhere. And if he wasn’t the witch, then surely she was!

At that moment, I looked around me to make sure no one was watching and muttered a little something into my Knockaround and changed into the woman the girl knew from the campfire in the forest. We locked eyes and I smiled at her, but before she was able to say anything from her screams of terror, she too was thrown into the water with the same stones anchored to her feet. Another five minutes later they brought her up and pronounced her lifeless body, “Not a witch.”

But at least they were sure now. Even if they were not sure where the sweets came from. Not to worry though, they are in for quite the surprise. I’m sure of it.

Creddling, 5th of Minge, 734 O.T.B. (Night)

Bronny, Kappie, and Jemmy were all late tonight. But it was understandable. Four children in two days suspected, arrested, tried, and killed for witchcraft wasn’t unheard of, but it certainly made for a jumpy town. Once they were all settled in around the campfire, I asked them what they wanted to learn tonight. Bronny was the first to speak up.

“I think I speak for everyone when I say there’s nothing else we want from you, witch. You may think no one saw you at the docks today, but I did. I saw you change and watch as Milly and Jared drowned. You stood there and did nothing! You could have helped, but you did nothing!”

“Using your new skill, I see,” I nodded approvingly. “You impress me, Bronny. I honestly didn’t think too much of you. Tell me, do you still want to bring me your little brother? That would really speed things—”

“Shut up!” Kappie snapped, cutting me off.

I looked at her, incredulous. “Or what?”

“Nothing,” Kappie retracted. “But we are leaving. All of us. Go poison some other town, crone. C’mon, Bronny, and Jemmy.”

She turned to leave and Bronny followed, but Jemmy did not. Jemmy stayed seated staring into the fire, casually warming her fingers by it. It took a few steps, but Kappie finally realized her friend wasn’t at her side and she turned to look at her, but when Jemmy didn’t even flinch, Kappie stamped her foot in the soft dirt, making an underwhelming thud and stormed off with Bronny.

Once we were alone, I knelt across from her and waited for her to speak. We sat for hours, listening to the wood crackle as the fire died down and rose again when I stacked more logs onto it. Eventually, she spoke.

“I made them leave, you know.”

I nodded. “I am aware, and very impressed. Your skills have increased greatly in a day.”

Jemmy nodded.

“Are you ready for more?”

She nodded again, her eyes glued to the waving embers at the bottom of the fire.

“How much more?” I asked, knowing full well what she would say.

“All of it…” she said. I detected no reluctance, no apprehension in her voice. It was cold and calculated. It was impossible for her to know exactly what she would have to do, but she knew it would not be pleasant and she was right.

[It’s important to note here, I think, that the training each one of these children went through was not as easy as she made it seem. Sirael glossed over the details because she knew better than to write down these things. They are a sort of “trade secret” amongst the Sisterhood of Crones and if anyone were to have stumbled upon her diary—which someone obviously did—those secrets would be out. Which is also why she cut off the day above right then and there. Suffice it to say, what Jemmy went through was painful, horrible, and above all, damning to the soul… or to anyone else that has or will go through the same trial. Dozii is not one to make deals with.]

Wicker and Idle, 6th and 7th of Minge, 734 O.T.B.

It’s been a few days, but things have been busy. So I’m going to cram as little about what happened on Wicker and Idle into a paragraph each then go to bed.

Wicker: Once Jemmy made the deal, she became much easier to train. Just like most crones, she was able to pick up on any concept of using different Trippings and within an hour have something close to mastery over it. Some would consider that cheating, however, we know the brutality of what happens during the deal or how common it is for one to die in the process, it is a fair trade.

Idle: By the end of the night, Jemmy was ready to become a crone. Well, almost… she still needed to be accepted into the sisterhood back at Stregge, as well as make the deal. Her knowledge of Trippings is impressive, though lacking. But, she is ready. There was only one more test before I could take her back to Stregge, she needed to bring me the traitors’ heads. Or rather, Bronny’s and Kappie’s heads. I told her this and she understood. In fact, she did one better and brought them back to me alive before the sunrise and did the deed right then and there. Tomorrow night, we’ll head back to Stregge and finish what we started.

Nitel, 8th of Minge, 734 O.T.B.

Sisters, if you are reading this, I am sorry. In truth, I have failed you. Not entirely, but know that there is not much more that I can do here at the Docks.

Allow me to elaborate…

   When Jemmy went back to her home that dawn to pack a few things for the journey back to you, I felt something was wrong. Knowing to never distrust my stomach, I used some Tripping to get my adrenaline pumping, allowing myself to stay awake. Then, I muttered a little something into my Knockaround to change my appearance. I know what you’re thinking. I’ve used it too many times in one spot, but I had to. Something was going to happen to Jemmy and I needed to be discrete.

   I bolted into the small town and as I got closer, I heard the angry voices of a crowd. Mixed in were the wails of babes and children crying, doing their best to find their mothers and in the middle of it all was Jemmy. She had been tied up and strung to the back of a horse which pulled her on the ground. I wasn’t sure how they got to her this way, she had been trained by myself, after all, and should have been able to defend herself without a problem. I suspect that they got behind her and waited for the right moment. It’s happened even to the best of us.

   I used a Blink Tripping and appeared on one of the roofs and hid behind the chimney to watched as they took my girl and dragged her to the docks as her muffled screams were drowned by the shouts and yells of the crowd. Tears of fear streamed down her face and soaked the gag they put in her mouth.

   I saw her eyes darting every which way and eventually mine met hers and she recognized me. Even through the charm of my Knockaround! Such a bright girl. I nodded to her, reassuring her that everything would be alright and she took some sniffled breaths and waited.

   They were getting ready to drown her now, bringing large stones to the docks and knotting them to her bonds. They lifted her up, heaving her to the water and tears began to stream down Jemmy’s cheeks again. I used Sharp Tripping and the tight chords holding her down released from her arms and legs. The stones dropped and a rather large one managed to smash one of the men’s feet, causing him to let go of Jemmy, leaving the rest to struggle and fail to hold her up.

Jemmy fell into the water but was back up in a flash with no gag on. She rose from the lake, dripping and soaked as she floated up then hovered there. You see, sisters? I taught her well in Trippings.

The overcast sky began to sprinkle rain but quickly turned into a downpour and slowly each of the townspeople turned their heads to see their Jemmy. The little girl they had known all their lives and watch as she grew into a beautiful young woman, now hovered above them in dripping wet clothing, her hair hung over eyes that glared at the world she once loved. It must have been terrifying to the humans. To me, it was glorious.

I watched her mouth move and one of the houses, perhaps it was even her own, burst into flame! Despite the enormous drops of pounding rain, it did not cease in any way. In fact, it soon spread to its neighboring houses. Then she did the same to the other side of the one road town. I hopped down into a crowd of people running in every direction imaginable and made my way to Jemmy.

She looked down at me and I held my hand out to her. She began to float downward and reached out her own hand they almost touched when the noise of something terrible infiltrated our ears. The groan was loud and long and very familiar to me, but not to Jemmy. I had not the time to teach her in the bestiary yet, not that I was permitted to do so anyway.

Her head jerked up and looked down the hellish road to see a fifteen-foot tall figure with the head of a buck’s skull. Its antlers protruded out past the length of a full grown man’s height and its legs appeared to be backward, but when taking a closer look, I’m sure she saw that they were more like a deer’s legs. You know, sisters, just as well as I do what we were looking at.

A wendigo had caught my scent via my Knockaround and hunted me to the Docks. I knew the dangers and risks of using the tool. I just never expected to be hunted so soon and much, much less in the day time. It knew better than to show itself then, but there it was, a creature of the night in the light of day.

My best guess to why it was able to show itself then was because of the heavy rain. I cursed and brought Jemmy the rest of the way down onto the old and rough hardwood. I looked her in the eyes and told her where she needed to go to find you and told her to run. That I would handle the beast. She was reluctant but did as she was told and bolted.

The wendigo bellowed its roar, mixed somewhere between a human voice and a deer call a hunter might use to attract his prey. The sound reverberated off the buildings that still stood and punched me hard in the chest—causing me to fly backward! I used the Hover and Stop Trippings and froze in mid-air. By the time I had my bearings, however, the beast was already at the docks. Its legs must have carried it in less than a second. Perhaps just as fast as a Blink Tripping, faster even!

I have never seen one this big, sisters, and I hope none of you have to either. I hope that not one of you ever has to face this creature….

Using a variety of Blink Trippings and Adrenaline Trippings, I was able to escape the beast, even if momentarily. I am taking the time to write this last bit, so you know what happened and how it happened.

The wendigo has my scent now and it is not going to let me go. But I also knew that I could not lead it back to you. We have hunted wendigos and other creatures in the past, sisters, but we were always together and it was never like this. I do not think that it could end any other way and I leave this with you so that in some way you may find solace in my passing. I hope that Jemmy finds her way to you, sisters and if she does, accept her readily and with open arms. She is ready, she is right.

Goodbye.

-Sirael

A group of soldiers found Sirael’s body—or rather what was left of it—just a day later on Telling, 9th of Minge, 734 O.T.B. The Crone’s diary was found in the mix of tattered clothes and ripped strips of flesh left over. The diary was brought from there to Chalice where I translated it and sent it off to be printed and sold. Later, Cedar approached me and let me know that he could shed some insight on the subject of the magic known as Tripping as well as a few other notes. Naturally, I accepted. Anything to have the upper hand on some of the creatures of the night.

As you may have gathered, Cedar did not deliver as I had hoped, but the insights were interesting; thus, I had the book reprinted and redistributed. You may find copies of the entire diary with Cedar’s annotations right here at the University of Chalice where I teach, as well as select book shops in these cities; Ø, Tahgattah, Tü, and Yamilla.

Sincerely,

-Professor D. D. Highfork

[readbookywooks]

The Heir of Slytherin

He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. His heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny? He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir. Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair. "Ginny!" Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees. "Ginny - don't be dead - please don't be dead -" He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But then she must be... "Ginny, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side. "She won't wake," said a soft voice. Harry jumped and spun around on his knees. A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him. "Tom - Tom Riddle?" Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face. "What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry said desperately. "She's not - she's not -?" "She's still alive," said Riddle. "But only just." Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen. "Are you a ghost?" Harry said uncertainly. "A memory," said Riddle quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years." He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there - but there were more pressing matters to deal with. "You've got to help me, Tom," Harry said, raising Ginny's head again. "We've got to get her out of here. There's a basilisk... I don't know where it is, but it could be along any moment... Please, help me." Riddle didn't move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Ginny half off the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again. But his wand had gone. "Did you see -?" He looked up. Riddle was still watching him - twirling Harry's wand between his long fingers. "Thanks," said Harry, stretching out his hand for it. A smile curled the corners of Riddle's mouth. He continued to stare at Harry, twirling the wand idly. "Listen," said Harry urgently, his knees sagging with Ginny's dead weight. "We've got to go! If the basilisk comes--" "It won't come until it is called," said Riddle calmly. Harry lowered Ginny back onto the floor, unable to hold her up any longer. "What d'you mean?" he said. "Look, give me my wand, I might need it--" Riddle's smile broadened. "You won't be needing it," he said. Harry stared at him. "What d'you mean, I won't be -?" "I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," said Riddle. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you." "Look," said Harry, losing patience, "I don't think you get it. We're in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later--" "We're going to talk now," said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Harry's wand. Harry stared at him. There was something very funny going on here ... "How did Ginny get like this?" he asked slowly. "Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle pleasantly. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger." "What are you talking about?" said Harry. "The diary," said Riddle. `My diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes - how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how -" Riddle's eyes glinted "- how she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her..." All the time he spoke, Riddle's eyes never left Harry's face. There was an almost hungry look in them. "It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl," he went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one's ever understood me like you, Tom... I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in... It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket ..." Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry's neck. "If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted... I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her..." "What d'you mean?" said Harry, whose mouth had gone very dry. "Haven't you guessed yet, Harry Potter?" said Riddle softly. "Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat." "No," Harry whispered. "Yes," said Riddle, calmly. "Of course, she didn't know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries... far more interesting, they became... Dear Tom," he recited, watching Harry's horrified face, `I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and 1 don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, l can't remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me... There was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad... I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!" Harry's fists were clenched, the nails digging deep into his palms. "It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary," said Riddle. "But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that's where you came in, Harry. You found it, and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet..." "And why did you want to meet me?" said Harry. Anger was coursing through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice steady. "Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry," said Riddle. "Your whole fascinating history." His eyes roved over the lightning scar on Harry's forehead, and their expression grew hungrier. "I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust--" "Hagrid's my friend," said Harry, his voice now shaking. "And you framed him, didn't you? I thought you made a mistake, but--" Riddle laughed his high laugh again. "It was my word against Hagrid's, Harry. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student... on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls... but I admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realize that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance... as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power! "Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippetto keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed... Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did ..." "I bet Dumbledore saw right through you," said Harry, his teeth gritted. "Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled," said Riddle carelessly. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn't going to waste those long years I'd spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work." "Well, you haven't finished it," said Harry triumphantly. "No one's died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again--" "Haven't I already told you," said Riddle quietly, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been - you." Harry stared at him. "Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who'd been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until your dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I must do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of Slytherin's heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery - particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because you could speak Parseltongue ... "So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried and became very boring. But there isn't much life left in her... She put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last... I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter." "Like what?" Harry spat, fists still clenched. "Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "how is it that you - a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent - managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?" There was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now. "Why do you care how I escaped?" said Harry slowly. "Voldemort was after your time..." "Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter..." He pulled Harry's wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT "You see?" he whispered. "It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry - I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!" Harry's brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry's own parents, and so many others... At last he forced himself to speak. "You're not," he said, his quiet voice full of hatred. "Not what?" snapped Riddle. "Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," said Harry, breathing fast. "Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you're hiding these days--" The smile had gone from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. "Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!" he hissed. "He's not as gone as you might think!" Harry retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true. Riddle opened his mouth, but froze. Music was coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry's scalp and made his heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the music reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar. A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle. A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder. As it folded its great wings, Harry looked up and saw it had a long, sharp golden beak and a beady black eye. The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to Harry's cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle. "That's a phoenix." said Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it. "Fawkes?" Harry breathed, and he felt the bird's golden claws squeeze his shoulder gently. "And that -" said Riddle, now eyeing the ragged thing that Fawkes had dropped, "that's the old school Sorting Hat--" So it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay motionless at Harry's feet. Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once. "This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?" Harry didn't answer. He might not see what use Fawkes or the Sorting Hat were, but he was no longer alone, and he waited for Riddle to stop laughing with his courage mounting. "To business, Harry," said Riddle, still smiling broadly. "Twice - in your past, in my future - we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk," he added softly, "the longer you stay alive." Harry was thinking fast, weighing his chances. Riddle had the wand. He, Harry, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither of which would be much good in a duel. It looked bad, all right... but the longer Riddle stood there, the more life was dwindling out of Ginny... and in the meantime, Harry noticed suddenly, Riddle's outline was becoming clearer, more solid... If it had to be a fight between him and Riddle, better sooner than later. "No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me," said Harry abruptly. "I don't know myself. But I know why you couldn't kill me. Because my mother died to save me. My common Muggle-born mother," he added, shaking with suppressed rage. "She stopped you killing me. And I've seen the real you, I saw you last year. You're a wreck. You're barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in hiding. You're ugly, you're foul--" Riddle's face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile. "So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a powerful countercharm. I can see now... there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself We even look something alike... but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That's all I wanted to know." Harry stood, tense, waiting for Riddle to raise his wand. But Riddle's twisted smile was widening again. "Now, Harry, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him..." He cast an amused eye over Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, then walked away. Harry, fear spreading up his numb legs, watched Riddle stop between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed - but Harry understood what he was saying ... "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four." Harry wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes swaying on his shoulder. Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, Harry saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole. And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths. Harry backed away until he hit the dark Chamber wall, and as he shut his eyes tight he felt Fawkes'wing sweep his cheek as he took flight. Harry wanted to shout, "Don't leave me!" but what chance did a phoenix have against the king of serpents? Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Harry felt it shudder - he knew what was happening, he could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin's mouth. Then he heard Riddle's hissing voice: "Kill him." The basilisk was moving toward Harry; he could hear its heavy body slithering heavily across the dusty floor. Eyes still tightly shut, Harry began to run blindly sideways, his hands outstretched, feeling his way - Voldemort was laughing. Harry tripped. He fell hard onto the stone and tasted blood the serpent was barely feet from him, he could hear it coming. There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him, and then something heavy hit Harry so hard that he was smashed into the wall. Waiting for fangs to sink through his body he heard more mad hissing, something thrashing wildly off the pillars. He couldn't help it - he opened his eyes wide enough to squint at what was going on. The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. As Harry trembled, ready to close his eyes if it turned, he saw what had distracted the snake. Fawkes was soaring around its head, and the basilisk was snapping furiously at him with fangs long and thin as sabers Fawkes dived. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail thrashed, narrowly missing Harry, and before Harry could shut his eyes, it turned - Harry looked straight into its face and saw that its eyes, both its great, bulbous yellow eyes, had been punctured by the phoenix; blood was streaming to the floor, and the snake was spitting in agony. "NO!" Harry heard Riddle screaming. "LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM. KILL HIM!" The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes. "Help me, help me," Harry muttered wildly, "someone - anyone..." The snake's tail whipped across the floor again. Harry ducked. Something soft hit his face. The basilisk had swept the Sorting Hat into Harry's arms. Harry seized it. It was all he had left, his only chance - he rammed it onto his head and threw himself flat onto the floor as the basilisk's tail swung over him again. Help me - help me - Harry thought, his eyes screwed tight under the hat. Please help me . There was no answering voice. Instead, the hat contracted, as though an invisible hand was squeezing it very tightly. Something very hard and heavy thudded onto the top of Harry's head, almost knocking him out. Stars winking in front of his eyes, he grabbed the top of the hat to pull it off and felt something long and hard beneath it. A gleaming silver sword had appeared inside the hat, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs. "KILL THE BOY! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. SNIFF - SMELL HIM." Harry was on his feet, ready. The basilisk's head was falling, its body coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face him. He could see the vast, bloody eye sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to swallow him whole, lined with fangs long as his sword, thin, glittering, venomous-- It lunged blindly - Harry dodged and it hit the Chamber wall. It lunged again, and its forked tongue lashed Harry's side. He raised the sword in both his hands-- The basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true - Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent's mouth-- But as warm blood drenched Harry's arms, he felt a searing pain just above his elbow. One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and deeper into his arm and it splintered as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor. Harry slid down the wall. He gripped the fang that was spreading poison through his body and wrenched it out of his arm. But he knew it was too late. White-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from the wound. Even as he dropped the fang and watched his own blood soaking his robes, his vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving in a whirl of dull color. A patch of scarlet swam past, and Harry heard a soft clatter of claws beside him. "Fawkes," said Harry thickly. "You were fantastic, Fawkes..." He felt the bird lay its beautiful head on the spot where the serpent's fang had pierced him. He could hear echoing footsteps and then a dark shadow moved in front of him. "You're dead, Harry Potter," said Riddle's voice above him. "Dead. Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he's doing, Potter? He's crying." Harry blinked. Fawke's head slid in and out of focus. Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers. "I'm going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time. I'm in no hurry." Harry felt drowsy. Everything around him seemed to be spinning. "So ends the famous Harry Potter," said Riddle's distant voice. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry... She bought you twelve years of borrowed time... but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must..." If this is dying, thought Harry, it's not so bad. Even the pain was leaving him... But was this dying? Instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus. Harry gave his head a little shake and there was Fawkes, still resting his head on Harry's arm. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound - except that there was no wound. "Get away, bird," said Riddle's voice suddenly. "Get away from him - I said, get away--" Harry raised his head. Riddle was pointing Harry's wand at Fawkes; there was a bang like a gun, and Fawkes took flight again in a whirl of gold and scarlet. "Phoenix tears..." said Riddle quietly, staring at Harry's arm. "Of course... healing powers... I forgot..." He looked into Harry's face. "But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me..." He raised the wand ... Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell into Harry's lap - the diary. For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book. There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then-- He had gone. Harry's wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence except for the steady drip drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it. Shaking all over, Harry pulled himself up. His head was spinning as though he'd just traveled miles by Floo powder. Slowly, he gathered together his wand and the Sorting Hat, and, with a huge tug, retrieved the glittering sword from the roof of the basilisk's mouth. Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was stirring. As Harry hurried toward her, she sat up. Her bemused eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, then to the diary in his hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face. "Harry - oh, Harry - I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy - it was me, Harry - but I - I s-swear I d-didn't mean to - R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over - and - how did you kill that - that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary--" "It's all right," said Harry, holding up the diary, and showing Ginny the fang hole, "Riddle's finished. Look! Him and the basilisk. C'mon, Ginny, let's get out of here--" "I'm going to be expelled!" Ginny wept as Harry helped her awkwardly to her feet. "I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll have to leave and - w-what'll Mum and Dad say?" Fawkes was waiting for them, hovering in the Chamber entrance. Harry urged Ginny forward; they stepped over the motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. Harry heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft hiss. After a few minutes'progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Harry's ears. "Ron!" Harry yelled, speeding up. "Ginny's okay! I've got her!" He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to make in the rock fall. "Ginny!" Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened?" How - what - where did that bird come from?" Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny. "He's Dumbledore's," said Harry, squeezing through himself. "How come you've got a sword?" said Ron, gaping at the glittering weapon in Harry's hand. "I'll explain when we get out of here," said Harry with a sideways glance at Ginny, who was crying harder than ever. "But--" "Later," Harry said shortly. He didn't think it was a good idea to tell Ron yet who'd been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny, anyway. "Where's Lockhart?" "Back there," said Ron, still looking puzzled but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. "He's in a bad way. Come and see." Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, they walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself. "His memory's gone," said Ron. "The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself." Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all. "Hello," he said. "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?" "No," said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry. Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe. "Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" he said to Ron. Ron shook his head, but Fawkes the phoenix had swooped past Harry and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers. Harry looked uncertainly at him. "He looks like he wants you to grab hold..." said Ron, looking perplexed. "But you're much too heavy for a bird to pull up there--" "Fawkes," said Harry, "isn't an ordinary bird." He turned quickly to the others. "We've got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron's hand. Professor Lockhart--" "He means you," said Ron sharply to Lockhart. "You hold Ginny's other hand--" Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt, Ron took hold of the back of Harry's robes, and Harry reached out and took hold of Fawkes's strangely hot tail feathers. An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread through his whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, they were flying upward through the pipe. Harry could hear Lockhart dangling below him, saying, "Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!" The chill air was whipping through Harry's hair, and before he'd stopped enjoying the ride, it was over - all four of them were hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place. Myrtle goggled at them. "You're alive," she said blankly to Harry. "There's no need to sound so disappointed," he said grimly, wiping flecks of blood and slime off his glasses. "Oh, well... I'd just been thinking... if you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet," said Myrtle, blushing silver. "Urgh!" said Ron as they left the bathroom for the dark, deserted corridor outside. "Harry! I think Myrtle's grown fond of you! You've got competition, Ginny!" But tears were still flooding silently down Ginny's face. "Where now?" said Ron, with an anxious look at Ginny. Harry pointed. Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor. They strode after him, and moments later, found themselves outside Professor McGonagall's office. Harry knocked and pushed the door open.