Chapter 8 - The Writing in Green
Written by Nemesis
Tom woke up on his birthday and was almost completely finished getting ready before he realized it was only four-thirty. He wondered vaguely what was the matter with his internal clock, but seeing as he was completely dressed, Tom decided he would just head down to the common room and do some reading before classes. As Tom passed Francis and Richard's beds, he paused. Richard was snoring peacefully, and Francis was murmuring softly in his slumber. Hearing both of their breathing made Tom furious. He had hoped they would die in the night so that he would not have to put up with them. He was still angry with them over the incidents of the previous night, and his temper seemed to have been stretched to the breaking point.
His eyes wandered over to his wand, which was sitting innocently in his belt. They were both asleep, it would be so easy. Coming to a conclusion, he drew out his wand and flung open the drapes of Richard's bed. "Memorinix," he whispered, hitting Richard with a Forgetfulness Spell. On a whim, he murmured, "Triximarv," and Richard shuddered slightly as the Clumsiness Curse impacted. Tom allowed himself a small smile. Richard would probably spend his day getting lost on the way to class and crashing into things. Tom gave the same treatment to Francis, and his smile grew wider. Nonchalantly, he pocketed his wand and hurried down to the common room.
The circular chamber was completely deserted except for a black kitten, who was pouncing on dust bunnies beside a loveseat. Tom knelt and petted it, and the kitten purred appreciatively. As he got to his feet, the kitten followed him to an armchair, and insisted upon sitting in his lap. Tom winced; the kitten's claws were digging into his thigh.
Tom rummaged in his bag and unearthed his secondhand copy of Hogwarts: A History, which he had still not finished. This was not surprising, for the pages numbered in the two thousands. As he opened it, he came upon a back section he had not known about. It contained biographies of each of the four founders, including moving portraits. Godric Gryffindor's biography was first. He was a brave-looking blond fellow with piercing grey eyes. Tom skimmed the passage and decided he liked Godric far more than his charges. Perhaps the poor man's house had gone to seed.
After glancing at Helga Hufflepuff's and Rowena Ravenclaw's articles, Tom flipped the page and found himself face to face with his ancestor. Salazar Slytherin had had the bluish black hair characteristic of his descendants. The face shape was quite different from Tom's, but this was probably because Salazar had been in his late twenties when the portrait was painted, as opposed to twelve years old. The eyes, however, were exactly the same.
Salazar Slytherin gave Tom a funny look, then a small smile. Tom tore his eyes away from the painting and began to read the life history with interest. Tom realized rather sympathetically that his ancestor had gone through a similarly hellish childhood, growing up in a marsh with adoptive Muggle parents. His Muggle stepfather sounded like a ten-times-worse Rupert Carney. Tom kept reading, watching as Slytherin's life, as well as Hogwarts, unfolded before his eyes. He learned that Slytherin and Gryffindor, though very close friends, were constantly bickering, and that Slytherin eventually left the school when the disagreements grew to be too much of a burden on their friendship.
At the end of the passage, there was a paragraph listing the things for which Slytherin was famous. One phrase caught Tom's eye and nearly made him choke. Not sure he had interpreted it correctly, he reread the following.
Perhaps Slytherin's most famous talent was his knowledge of Parseltongue, or the ability to talk to snakes. It was a trait he sought in his hand-picked pupils, but as far as the records show, he was not able to find one in even his own family. Experts believe that Parselmouths are extremely rare, and that Salazar Slytherin may indeed have been the only one in recorded magical history.
So that was why everyone had been so shocked, Tom thought. If it was such a rare gift, it was perfectly understandable that they should be taken aback. However, this was interesting. Tom had not known that Slytherin himself was a Parselmouth. Tom closed the book slowly and looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. It told him that it was six o'clock, and that Tom had been reading for an hour and a half.
Tom supposed that they might be serving breakfast already, so he headed down to the Great Hall, bookbag in hand. He was so busy thinking that he walked straight through the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron. Tom shivered; touching a ghost felt like touching icy water. The Bloody Baron spun around to look at him. His eyes were blank, without pupils or irises, and his ghostly robes were splattered with silvery blood. "I offer my apologies, young Riddle," the Baron croaked, causing some more blood to trickle out of the slash in his throat.
"It's quite all right," Tom replied, though he felt more inclined to run away. This particular ghost made him extremely nervous, and Tom had still not dared to ask who--or what--had first drenched the Baron with blood. Tom forced a sunny smile and headed off to the Great Hall, but to his exasperation and anxiety, the Baron followed him.
"Is there something on your mind?" he asked, as drops of blood rolled down his front. Tom did his best not to watch, it was nauseating.
"Not really. I just want some breakfast." What a lie this was. Seeing the Baron speak drove away any appetite Tom might have had. The Bloody Baron was almost as bad as the Lonely One as grotesqueries went.
"You are up early."
"Yeah," Tom gulped, trying to avert his eyes but to no avail.
"That is imprudent, you need rest," the Baron chuckled. "You will probably be up past dawn tonight."
"Why?" Tom inquired.
The Baron tried to smile, but tensing the muscles in his cheeks caused nearly as much trouble as talking. "It is characteristic of Houses to celebrate their founders' birthdays, young Riddle."
It took a moment for the full momentum of this statement to hit him. When it did, Tom's bookbag tumbled out of his hands. He looked up at the Bloody Baron, wide-eyed. "It's Slytherin's birthday?" he gasped. When the Baron nodded, Tom's face went deathly pale. Hurriedly, he gathered up his books and fled down the marble staircase.
Larkin, as usual, was at breakfast early, twirling a bunch of her bushy black hair around her finger and drawing caricatures on a scrap of parchment. As she saw Tom enter, she gave him a curious look. She had been among the first-years still awake on the previous night, and she knew about Tom's strange gift. Unlike some of the others, however, Larkin thought that it was a brilliant talent to have, and she promptly ambushed him.
"Hey, serpent-tongue," she whispered, grinning from ear to ear.
"Quiet!" Tom snapped, his voice higher than usual and his eyes on the staff table. Professor Dumbledore was deep in conversation with the Headmaster, thankfully. Tom noticed that instead of his usual grey robes, Professor Chapman was wearing deep green. Tom guessed it was in honor of the occasion, and he went even paler.
"I once knew someone who died from eating poisoned eggs," Larkin smirked, just as Tom was lifting his egg-filled fork to his mouth. Tom glared at her, and she positively beamed. "You're cranky today," she said cheerfully. "Listen, don't let the others get you down. I think it's neat. I mean, Slytherin himself--"
"I KNOW!" Tom barked, so loudly that a couple of Hufflepuffs across the hall gave him quizzical looks. "Sorry," he added, as Larkin leered at him. At that moment, a seventh-year girl arrived at the table, a box in her hands.
The girl had hair of a dark blonde color, and she had green and silver ribbons woven into it. "I'm giving out pendants," she said importantly. "Emerald ones with silver snakes wrapped around them. See?" She held up an amulet on a black string. "Everyone take one. We're showing our colors today!" Larkin seized one and immediately got the string tangled in her extremely shaggy hair. All the other Slytherins took them, and Professor Chapman claimed one, too, praising the seventh-year on her craftsmanship.
"I'm sure Professor Dippet would like a set for each of the Houses, Miss Embers," he informed her, and the girl swelled with pride. Professor Chapman turned to Tom, who was looking distinctly ill and was pallid as a ghost. "You all right, Mr. Riddle?" he asked, concerned.
"It's my birthday," Tom murmured, so that only Professor Chapman could hear. Sharing a birthday with a Hogwarts founder had to be quite unusual, and the fact that he was a Parselmouth was just too much. If people knew about both, they might sense a connection, and his secret would be out of the bag. Professor Chapman looked surprised.
"Really? Your birthday?" To Tom's horror, the professor was speaking in a normal tone. "Well, happy birthday, Tom." The Potions master headed back to the staff table. Larkin whirled on him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded indignantly. "I could have bought you something!" Tom sighed with relief. Larkin would not bother to put two and two together, so at least she would not know.
As Tom was finishing breakfast, the rest of the students lumbered down to the meal. Tom noticed that neither Richard nor Francis had come down at all. A few of the Slytherins shot him inquisitive glances, but none of them seemed especially afraid. Tom got to his feet and left the hall, not keen on striking up a conversation with anybody. He heard Betty Embers, the seventh-year, hawking her talismans to the new arrivals.
"Perhaps I'll go to History of Magic early," Tom thought, but he dismissed this idea quickly. He would have been over two hours ahead of schedule, and wonderful though Professor Twiddy might be, Tom thought she might think there was something wrong with him if he turned up that soon.
As Tom wandered the halls wondering what to do with his time, he happened upon Francis and Richard. He had to stifle a laugh. They were weaving heavily, as though deeply intoxicated, and had bewildered looks on their faces. Richard's robes were on both backwards and inside out, and Francis walked right into a statue, adding to the number of bruises and cuts he already had from previous accidents. "Feeling all right?" Tom asked, fighting away his grin.
"Yeah," Richard prattled, a bemused look on his face. "Just fine. I don't know what's wrong with me today, but I'll get over it." He hiccoughed loudly.
"Thanks for your consideration, erm--what's your name?" Francis cocked his head and tried to remember Tom's name. "Jimmy, yeah! Thanks, Jimmy, we owe you one. Now we need to get along to Potions, so see you later!" As they left, Tom heard them debating where they had seen him before. Richard insisted Tom was a second-year Hufflepuff, while Francis was sure "Jimmy" was a Gryffindor prefect. Tom watched them collide a few times before they managed to turn a corner, and he could not conceal a laugh.
After meandering for the rest of the breakfast period, Tom headed toward History of Magic, arriving even before Professor Twiddy. The Slytherins had a very entertaining lesson, for today they were reenacting a goblin rebellion. The teacher assigned each student to a group of tamed Cornish Pixies and led them out onto the snow, where they had a riotous good time directing the electric blue creatures in battle. Francis and Richard finally found the rest of the class halfway through the lesson, and they crashed into so many people that Professor Twiddy had to drag them to the sidelines where they could not hurt anybody.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was equally interesting. The students were taking notes on the behavior of a hinkypunk in a glass tank, and Professor Xavier told them that they would be moving on to grindylows after Christmas holidays. Richard became so excited by this that he fell out of his chair, taking with him a bottle of black ink, which splattered all over Serena Birch's shoes. Tom watched this operation with amusement, and the class roared with laughter as Richard finally returned to his seat. There was a large, inky boot-print on his forehead where Serena had kicked him, though Richard had already forgotten she had done it.
"Wonder what's wrong with him," Adrian chortled as he left the class with Tom. "He and Francis have been acting like idiots ever since breakfast. I mean, more like idiots than usual."
"Naturally," Tom replied coolly. "You know I don't let people get away with making me mad." Adrian stared at him, then snickered uncontrollably, causing a passing line of Ravenclaws to give him funny looks. Adrian continued to giggle until they reached the Transfiguration classroom. Professor Dumbledore was waiting there.
"Do try and control yourself, Mr. Müller," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. Adrian smirked and hurried into the classroom. Tom wondered whether Professor Dumbledore had heard Professor Chapman say it was Tom's birthday.
The rest of the class was trying to turn pencils into earthworms, but Professor Dumbledore gave Tom a harder assignment when he was finished, so as not to let the boy grow bored. "I want you to try to turn your desk into a baby hippopotamus," Dumbledore informed him. "Good luck." Tom, who had been practicing, managed this transformation in only a few minutes, and Professor Dumbledore gave up and told him to read for the rest of the period.
After class, Professor Dumbledore pulled Tom aside. "Tom, I can't avoid this anymore. Your talents are simply too far above Ordinary Wizarding Level for you to continue in this particular class." Tom began to protest, but the teacher held up a hand to silence him. "I think that maybe you should begin to take Transfiguration with the sixth-years. God knows you are already at that level."
"What happens when I'm in my third year?" Tom asked. "I'll have gone through the whole curriculum by then, right?"
"Then I'll have to begin tutoring you on the most advanced forms of Transfiguration. You're especially bright, you know, probably more sophisticated than any other student in recent memory. My guess is you'll become one of the most famous Transfiguration experts in the wizarding world. You certainly have the potential." Tom felt himself go red. He tried to smile at Professor Dumbledore, but his face fell when he saw that his teacher was not smiling back. Dumbledore was looking at him oddly, the same way Mr. Ollivander had looked at Tom when he had discovered that Tom was left-handed. It was a calculating, piercing stare that made Tom feel extremely self-conscious.
"Is there something wrong?" Tom could not resist asking.
Dumbledore shook his head. "You had better go, Tom, you'll be late for Charms and Professor Flitwick will be after my blood. Hurry, now, off you trot." Tom obeyed, asking himself all the while why he got the impression Dumbledore disliked him.
********************
When Tom got to dinner, the Great Hall was decked out in silver and green, the Slytherin House colors. The Ravenclaws, who seemed to have finally forgiven all of the Slytherins except for Francis, were acting rather friendly for the first time in ages. Tom took a seat at the end of the Slytherin table, two feet away from the beginning of the Ravenclaw eating area. Larkin sat near him. She tried to tame her wild hair, but all she managed to do was tangle it more. Lili arrived a few seconds later, and Tom was sure her eyes flicked in his direction before she took a seat directly across the aisle.
The meal appeared on the table, and Tom immediately helped himself to a large portion. He had spent lunchtime in the library and had not eaten since breakfast. Francis and Richard kept missing their mouths with their forks, instead hitting themselves in the face, forgetting they had done it, and repeating the action. The other Slytherins chatted happily, but Tom did not join in. He was too busy watching Professor Dumbledore. The Transfiguration instructor was talking jovially to little Professor Flitwick, but every now and then, his blue eyes would wander over to where Tom was sitting, and his expression would turn into something indiscernible.
"I don't think it's a bad thing, Tom," Larkin shrugged when he asked her for her opinion. "He just hasn't seen anyone as good as you are before, and it gives him the collywobbles. I mean, your head's practically pulsating from all the grey matter."
"I'll choose to take that as a compliment," Tom sighed, turning back to his baked potato. Larkin laughed and began chattering away to Zuhayr. Somehow, Tom did not think that Dumbledore acted oddly around him because he thought he was too brainy for belief. What could it be, though? Tom liked Dumbledore well enough, and he did not like the idea of having one of his favored teachers hating him.
All through dinner, Tom kept his eye on Professor Dumbledore, itching to be blunt and demand an explanation but too shy to do it. He trudged up to Slytherin Tower in very low spirits, while all the Slytherins around him discussed the upcoming party. Tom spotted the Bloody Baron lurking on a stairwell, deep in conversation with Peeves the Poltergeist, who was bowing and speaking in an oily voice. The boy turned away, flinching. The Bloody Baron had just coughed, which caused what looked like a liter of blood to come out of his neck, and Tom did not want to watch.
The Slytherins piled into the common room, their talk growing more excited. Tom did not much feel like taking part in the festivities, so he selected an armchair away from the crowd and started to read a library book. After about fifteen minutes, a couple of very bright-faced fourth-years returned from the school kitchens laden with snacks and bottles of butterbeer. The congregation cheered and a prefect began to distribute the snacks. He set a butterbeer and a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans on the side table next to Tom, and Tom thanked him, returning to his book. Larkin spotted him.
"Good Lord, Tom, do you ever do anything besides read?" she asked, looking quite mortified. "Come on, it's your birthday, you should take part in the party." A few people nearby gave Tom surprised looks, but Tom did not notice. He absorbed himself in the book, never once looking up for several hours.
The grandfather clock sounded twelve times, signaling midnight. At the instant that the last chime rang out, the lights suddenly and inexplicably went out. Tom looked up sharply, but without purpose. The common room was pitch-black. He heard several girls scream, and the rest were whispering and panicking. "Oh, this is stupid," Tom said. "Lumos!" A light appeared at the tip of his wand, casting a greenish glow on everything within five feet. Several people followed his lead, and the common room slowly came into half-view.
"What happened?" someone asked. The only light in the room came from the wands; even the fire in the grate had gone. Equally unexpectedly, the light of the wands flickered out as well. Tom stared at his wand. He had never known it to malfunction before. A sudden scream brought him back to earth, and he looked around for the cause of the cry. As his eyes reached the ceiling, he saw what was wrong, and he had to stifle a shout.
Large, shimmering green words had formed on the ceiling for all to see. "'The circle is complete,'" Tom read aloud in a shaking voice. "'Let the games begin.'" There was a roaring noise resembling thunder, and the lights came back. As the hearth and torches were bestowed their flame once more, the green words vanished in a puff of smoke.