FHB: Chapter 30

Lucius took one quick look around before he decided to follow the stranger. Still unsure on whether he could trust him, Lucius kept a safe distance. The stranger led Lucius on a long walk and when they finally stopped, Lucius found himself in a dark alley.

There was no one around, not even a poor muggle on the street, and Lucius felt uneasy. His hand slowly reached into his jacket for his wand and just when he was about to pull it out, the stranger spoke.

“No need for that.”

“Who are you?” Lucius asked.

“No need to tell you either. I’m just here to escort you,” the stranger answered.

“I have not seen you before,” Lucius stated.

“You can’t see everybody, little Malfoy.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes with his hand still tightly wrapped around his wand.

“No time for dilly dally. Come now, the Dark Lord is waiting.”

The stranger waved for Lucius but he stood his ground. It could very well be a test and he did not want to take a risk.

“Having trust issues, eh?”

“Show me,” Lucius simply replied.

“Show what?”

“You know what.”

The stranger chuckled and swaggered towards him. Lucius’ palm was already getting sweaty as he tightened his grip on his wand. The way the stranger smiled as he made his way closer to Lucius was nothing close to friendly. The stranger also showed no signs of wanting to show Lucius what he had asked for.

When the stranger stopped two feet away from Lucius, he slowly lifted his left hand. Lucius watched closely, but what happened next was something he least expected. The stranger roughly grabbed him on the arm and in a second Lucius felt himself being pulled into a strange motion. His world became a blur and when it finally refocused, there was an uneasiness in his stomach. Thankfully, he had not eaten anything since he left Hogwarts.

Coughing in response to the gagging sensation in his throat, he felt someone snatch his suitcase from him. When he looked up to see who it was, he found himself looking at a familiar face. It was someone whose name he did not know but face he recognized.

“Follow me,” the man said.

The stranger had disappeared and Lucius assumed he took his suitcase with him.  Not sure if he should ask about it, he remained silent and followed after the man. Lucius had arrived in a dimly lit, old dusty house. The air was thick and stuffy, and by the time he made it to the top of the stairs, he was panting. The man did not seem to care about his well being as he continued down a hallway. Lucius was a fool to think he would be treated well.

Once at the end of the hallway, the man knocked on a door and said, “He’s here.”

There was a muffled reply before the door swung open. The man gestured for Lucius to enter and when he did, the door shut behind him almost immediately.

“You must be hungry. Come, have some food,” a voice said.

A single candle on top of an unlit fireplace was the only light in the room. It took Lucius awhile before his eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was someone seated on an armchair, which Lucius assumed to be the Dark Lord, and a few others standing around. There was also something moving on the ground, and Lucius did not need to guess what it was. Cautiously, Lucius made his way to the Dark Lord.

“I don’t have much, only some bread, but that should be enough,” the Dark Lord added as he waved at a table beside him.

“I’m not hungry, my lord,” Lucius lied. He lied because he was too afraid to reach out into the darkness… afraid a slithering creature might bite his hand off.

“Very well. You will follow Polkus here,” the Dark Lord replied and the figure of a man took a step forward.

“Now?” Lucius asked softly.

“Yes, now. Tonight, you become a death eater,” the Dark Lord said.

Lucius swallowed dryly as he nodded his head. Seeing his reaction, the Dark Lord waved Polkus over. When Polkus grabbed on to Lucius’ arm, Lucius felt the strange motion again. This time it lasted longer, and when it ended, Lucius found himself in a forest.

“Stay close, stay quiet, and keep your eyes open,” Polkus whispered a second after their arrival.

Lucius wanted to know if they were the only ones sent on the special mission, but the still forest forced him into silence. He wished he knew what he was supposed to do or at least an idea on what was going on, but it seemed like the Dark Lord kept him clueless on purpose. Maybe it was a sick joke, maybe there were no Dementors? Lucius could only hope.

As Polkus took the lead and crept carefully through the thick forest, Lucius stayed close behind. He also did what he was told and he kept his eyes wide open, but with the little moonlight seeping through the dense tree leaves, it was pretty pointless.

Finally, after a few minutes, Polkus stopped and waved for Lucius to crouch behind a tree. Doing as he was told Lucius quickly got into position, and that was when he knew it was not a sick joke. Up ahead was a small clearing and hovering above it were a few of the hooded soul suckers. Hoping he was not forced to greet them, a wave of relief swept over him when a few death eaters walked into the clearing from the other side.

Lucius was extremely grateful that he was merely a watcher, but before he could calm his racing heart, he heard a sound. Turning to Polkus, it seemed as though he had not heard it. Lucius wondered if he should check it out. It could be nothing, but it was better to be safe than sorry, right?

To Be Continued…

(Leave a comment below or vote on whether Lucius should check out the sound or ignore it!)

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FHB: Chapter 28

It was a letter, one he wrote and mailed out with no idea if it would reach its recipient. He had to use his own owl to play it safe but he was not even sure if his owl would be able to make the delivery. The only thing he was sure of, was that his letter was well written, if one could even consider ‘I need a favour’ as well written. At least he knew nothing could go wrong if a stranger read it.

After that night with Severus, Lucius did two things; one was the vague letter and the other was making Severus swear to secrecy. The secret was not regarding the Dark Lord but his father. Severus swore on his own father, which Lucius knew carried little weight as he did it without blinking. But Lucius decided to trust him anyway. After all, he didn’t have a choice. As for the conversation about the Dark Lord, Lucius told him to be patient. One day, Severus will get his chance to meet the Dark lord; one day when he’s older.

Lucius had took upon himself the duty of making sure Severus was far from this dark world as possible. He would hate to admit it, but he wanted to give Severus some form of childhood. Severus might think it glorious to fight for the Dark Lord, but having grown up in a family always surrounded by the ‘cause’, Lucius knew there was not a single ounce of fun or glory in it all. Sure, Lucius would continue to do the Dark Lord’s bidding and recruit children, but he would decide how much these children would be exposed to.

A whole week after those secrets were shared, Lucius did not see his feathered friend. Lucius was almost convinced that the Dark Lord could not be reached at that moment. So when his owl finally returned with a letter, Lucius assumed it was his own. It was only when he untied the letter that he realized the envelope was of different material. With scepticism, Lucius tore the envelope open and read its contents.

‘Let’s meet. Same place.’

The letter felt so familiar. Assuming that the letter was referring to Potage Cauldron Shop, was it implying that he would be meeting with his father again? Dread immediately swept over him, as he had no intentions of meeting his father. But just like the previous letter, Lucius had not choice but to go with it.

When the weekend visit to Hogsmead arrived, Lucius joined his friends before excusing himself as usual. None of his so-called friends questioned him, even though he knew they were very curious. He could only hope that none decided to follow him out of curiosity. Killing the cat would be so messy.

Just like before, the cauldron shop was empty. There was no one at the counter and the back door was slightly ajar. Lucius did not hesitate as he descended the steps leading towards the dark basement. When he was at the bottom, he pulled out his wand ready to chase the darkness away, but before he could, the basement door slammed shut. Lucius jumped at the sudden sound before the hair on his nape began to stand.

“I’ve been waiting,” a voice said, cutting through the silence.

Lucius recognized it, and it was not his father’s. There was also a soft hissing that floated around the room, and Lucius immediately knew he was in the presence of the Dark Lord.

“I came as fast as I could,” Lucius replied.

“Have you spoken to any of your friends about me?”

“One, but there will be more,” Lucius said, wishing there was a hint of light to tell him where the Dark Lord was at.

“Good. What is this favour you need, Lucius?” the Dark Lord asked in a rather friendly manner.

“My father, he has been cursed.”

“I know.”

Lucius could not help but wonder why the Dark Lord did nothing to help his father. What was the Dark Lord’s definition of loyalty?

“Can you help him?”

“I can, but it won’t be easy. The curse he acquired while he failed to do my bidding is a dark one.”

That was why the Dark Lord was not lending a helping hand. His father had failed a bidding and not helping was his punishment.

“I’ll do anything. Please help my father.”

“You’ve done a lot for me Lucius,” the Dark Lord stated.

There must have been a reason for that statement, because it made Lucius foolishly think he did not have to do anything for that favour. Just when he thought it was really a ‘favour’ as per the original definition, the Dark Lord redefined it.

“But I need you to do one extra thing, if you want me to save your father,” the Dark Lord added.

Holding back a disappointed sigh, Lucius asked, “What do I need to do?”

“I need you to join my Death Eaters on a special mission.”

“What kind of a mission?”

“A mission to strike an agreement with my hooded friends. I think you know them as Dementors.”

Lucius swallowed hard at the sound of what he needed to do. It was a special mission all right, because Dementors were not creatures to be messed with.

“I-I have school,” Lucius managed a reply.

“I know what to do. School will not be a problem, unless… you’re using it as an excuse. If so, I will not help your father.”

Lucius stood in the darkness, not sure on what to do. He wouldn’t be alone on the mission, so everything would be fine… right? It was stupid to even consider his next thought, but was his father worth it? Two things could happen with his decision, either his father looses his soul or Lucius looses his.

To Be Continue…

(Leave a comment below or vote on whether should accept the mission or decline it!)

She’s Not My Daughter

(Play this before you start reading. Courtesy of Dummeh.)

It was dark and cold. The quiet, dry, lifeless cells, that hid the faces of the many unstable inmates did not make him feel any better. It was a mistake insulting a ministry personnel, but he was the one. He was the one that put his family to shame. That man slept with his wife and bore that disgusting child, the child who did not deserve his name.

She was not his daughter. Why he constantly believed she was never his own was because she was just too stupid. If Ogden tried to protect his daughter, they probably had relation.

Where he got the insane idea, that Ogden was his daughter’s real father, merely fascinated his messed up mind. It was funny though, because at one moment, he felt like laughing at his ridiculous accusations, and at another, he felt like crying. He often blamed his emotional turmoil on the presence of his daughter. And despite trying to disown her at any given reason, he knew she was his.

She was his daughter, there was no doubt, but he still hated her and it was more than her falling in love with a muggle named Tom Riddle. Every time the Dementors came to suck the life out of him, he would be reminded of why his hatred was so overpowering. The only happiness he had would be destroyed and crushed with the rising memory of her death. His beautiful, elegant, Emily’s death.

She was his. She was beautiful. He missed the way she kissed him and the way her eyes would sparkle every time she smiled. Oh, she was a beauty. Her long gold hair, and her dark brown eyes against her pale complexion, were imprinted so vividly in his mind that no matter how hard he tried to forget, he could never do so.

Now with the presence of Dementors, it was harder to push her from the tip of his mind. Once they came close enough, he would remember the day.

It was October 24th, 1907. Emily was in labour, but she was early. Their daughter was not to be born till the middle of December, and when Emily screamed the news, he rushed to the nearby town, searching for a midwife. When he finally found one, he ran back to their little cottage, shouting at the midwife to hurry up all along the way.

It was supposed to be a happy day. They were about to have their first daughter and Emily was looking forward to the day where she could hold her baby girl in her arms. But the moment their daughter was born, Emily became too weak. She bled too much and before she could lay her eyes on her child, she died.

Days after her death, he would lock himself in his room, leaving the crying baby to his young son. He couldn’t even go near his newborn child. She had her eyes and every time he looked at her, he felt a strong hatred towards the baby girl. And the more he reacted to his daughter, the more his son mirrored after him. It was as though he contracted a disease and his son was infected too.

The only reason why he kept the baby girl was because she looked more and more like Emily as she grew up. She had the same gold hair, and the same sparkle in her eyes. She had the sweetest smile, just like her mother. But she was not her mother, she was a murderer.

He was disgusted at her existence but he knew he had to take care of her. Emily would not have wanted him to get rid of their child.

So he bore with her. But he made sure she lived in hell. She was to do all the cleaning and cooking. He did not spare her from harsh words. And to his delight, his son followed after him. But he did not realize what a man he had become and how he was such a horrible father to his children.

But his daughter, despite being abused, physically and mentally, was still so willing to stay by his side. Just like Emily, she loved him. But his hatred was too strong to bring out any love from his heart.

To him, in his insane state, she was a monster. She was a low life squib who did not deserve his family’s name. She was not his daughter.

And yet, as he sat in his cell, hoping to die, all he could think of was her. But the breath of a Dementor left an incurable disease, and he felt more deranged as the days went by.

If only he could save his soul, he would be able to utter some words of kindness to his daughter. If only he could gather what was left of his sanity, he could maybe show her some love.

Immediately, in the rarest state of his mind, he reached for a broken chain on the floor and scraped the walls, hoping to pen a confession only he would be able to read and soon forget.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a horrible father. I love you Merope. I love you just like I love your mother. You do not deserve a father like me. I wish you could read this. I wish you could know that I’m trying. I’m trying not to be the crazy, violent man that you know. Please forgive me my child. I am a lost soul, already broken and cannot be saved.’

And then, as though a switch was flicked, the last spec of sanity left him and he began violently pounding the wall, demanding his release and cursing his daughter. Marvolo Gaunt had finally lost his mind, and what was left of his soul merely sustained him till he could find last words, written on a goodbye letter from his daughter.

(This is my 1st short fan fiction accompanied by an audio track. Let me know what you think in the comments below. I hope you enjoyed both the story and the music.)

Chapter 6:

Joanna sat in the second floor girl’s bathroom. Tom had asked her to meet him there the day before, because apparently, no one visits this bathroom anymore. And Joanna was oblivious to the fact why.

As she sat alone, an occasional wave of sudden chills ran through her body. Joanna had a feeling something was not right, and when she heard a soft moan coming from one of the cubicles, she stood up with confirmation.

“Who’s there?” Joanna asked loudly, suppressing the urge to run.

But instead of a reply, the moaning grew louder and Joanna slowly backed towards the exit. She was about to turn and make a dash out, when she bumped into someone. Immediately, she spun around, only to find Tom standing behind her.

“Are you scared?” Tom chuckled.

“There’s something in this toilet,” Joanna quickly answered.

“Get out of here Myrtle,” Tom said as he walked pass her.

A ghostly figure of a girl came swooping out of a toilet cubicle. Her hair was tied up in two ponytails and she screamed in such a high pitch that Joanna instinctively covered her ears.

“I told you to get out you filthy mudblood!” Tom raised his voice.

The ghost stopped and choked on her cries. “Fine!” she said as she wailed into a cubicle and splashed into a toilet bowl.

“Who was that?” Joanna asked as she peered into the cubicle where the ghost disappeared into.

“Some dead mudblood,” Tom shrugged as he sat down and placed the thick book he carried around on his lap.

“Right,” Joanna said as she joined him.

They spent their entire evening break in the girl’s bathroom, with the surprising absence of the moaning ghost.

Joanna told stories of how a few of her uncles were trying to make a Horcrux and each of them had different results, all bad of course. But strangely, as their conversation left the room of dark arts, Joanna started to fear him less.

A week into secret toilet hideouts and Joanna had gotten Tom to talk about his childhood. It was her way of trying to get him to stay away from the Horcrux topic as long as possible, hoping he would forget about the idea all together.

But when Tom spoke of his younger days, he seemed to be loathing it.

“Bloody orphanage muggles thought I was sick! Got me muggle doctors and all,” Tom scoffed.

“Then who told you about magic?” Joanna asked.

“Dumbledore. He came for me one afternoon.”

“But, Dumbledore…” Joanna had noticed the way Dumbledore looked at Tom, and it wasn’t the same way most of the other Professors did.

“He doesn’t like me I assume. He’s always watching me, trying to catch me or something,” Tom finished her sentence for her.

“You’re not afraid of him are you?”

Tom didn’t answer, instead he changed the topic with a question directed to her, “Why were you expelled?”

“I set the headmaster’s office on fire.”

“Why?”

“He’s a muggleborn, who made us read books ONLY by muggles.” Joanna rolled her eyes at the memory.

“He said muggles were the best in arts. But he doesn’t know what he is talking about. Shakespeare and DaVinci weren’t muggles and they were famous! Yet he chose not to teach about them,” Joanna continued. “So one day, I decided to set his office on fire.”

“Was he in it?”

“No.”

“How unfortunate,” Tom sighed and Joanna chuckled.

“I know, but I would be in prison if he was. I’m somewhat thankful he didn’t die,” Joanna said.

“I would break you out if you were.” Tom smiled.

“You didn’t know me then, how could you break me out?”

“That’s true. I guess it would be horrid to have your life sucked out by Dementors everyday.”

“Horrid indeed. My aunt’s in prison,” Joanna conveniently stated.

“Wicked family you have, and yet you don’t practice dark magic?”

“My mother has lost a lot. I don’t want to be another lost to her. I am after all, the only child.”

“That’s one reason I don’t have to worry about.”

Joanna went silent at the thought of how her parents would react if she had died. Even right now, her mother was constantly grieving as one after another, her brothers and sisters were suffering, disappearing and dying because of dark magic. And though it was in their family heritage to practice it, her mother never promoted it. The lost was unbearable and the only good thing that ever came out of dark magic was death.

Tom must have noticed her drift away as he asked, “You still here?”

“Sorry, I was thinking,” Joanna replied.

“About?”

“About the Christmas ball.” An excuse she made.

“Are you going?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know. No one has asked me yet,”

“It’s a little too early to be asked don’t you think? It’s a full month away.”

“Yes, but I don’t really have a lot of friends.” Joanna realized it was a fact the moment she said so.

Since she started in Hogwarts, the only Hufflepuff she knew by name was Annoria. The rest were just “hey”s and “hello”s. And for those who weren’t in Hufflepuff, she knew no one but Tom and Malfoy, who had suddenly became awfully nice to her.

“I”m a friend,” Tom said, and he sounded like he meant it.

“That’s nice to know.” Joanna smiled, as she deciphered his tone.

“Do you…” Tom’s voice trailed off in uncertainty.

“Do I what?”

“Do you… want to go to the Christmas Ball with me?”

Joanna was caught by surprise. She wanted to go but should she?

To be continued…

(Leave a comment below on vote on whether Joanna should accept Tom’s request and go with him to the Christmas ball!)