Tutemet
mirabere.*
TERENCE
– Heauton Timorumenos
Hogwarts
hadn’t seen such a piece of jewellery before, and for some days, Narcissa’s
engagement ring, just like the engagement as such, which had been announced in
the Daily Prophet according to Cygnus’ demands, were the only topics among the
female students. The ring was truly incredible – Jeanie and Lassie nearly
fainted when spotting it after the holidays – even Bellatrix had made a joke
that small African countries could be run by the equivalent value. Narcissa
didn’t care for the money it was worth; in her mind, this ring was invaluable.
Her
roommates found some odd kind of vicarious pleasure in the whole story. ‘One of
them’ – whatever that was supposed to mean, because Narcissa had certainly
never regarded herself belonging to them in any small way – had caught the
country’s most desirable bachelor. ‘One of them’ would soon become Europe’s
richest witch, ‘one of them’ had captivated that most elusive fellow. Perhaps
there was a certain amount of well-disguised envy in all their gushing, but the
prevailing sentiment was indeed satisfaction, partly with retroactive effect.
Lassie in particular was most willing to declare that Narcissa and Lucius were
‘the real deal’; it made her own oh-so-short interlude with the boy so much
more dignified. Of course it could
not have worked out between them – because Lucius Malfoy’s one and true love
must always have been Narcissa, so it was really no one’s fault. At least the
first part of this claim wasn’t as far off the mark as Lassie usually was.
They were
suddenly willing to cut Narcissa a whole lot of slack, too. Her disinterest in
fashion magazines, for example, or her style of dressing herself – which the
other girls had always thought weird – were marks of distinction now; the
costly, old-fashioned materials, the keenness to cover every bit of skin by
sporting extra-long skirts, long-sleeved blouses even on the hottest summer day
and turtleneck sweaters in winter, they now interpreted as the proper attire of
a sophisticated young lady saving herself up for ‘Mr Right’. Speaking of it –
speculation was running high in that quarter. Given Lucius Malfoy’s reputation,
it might have been only natural that they all automatically assumed that the
‘impregnable fortress’, as Martha had always called her dorm-mate, had been stormed
and taken. As annoyed as Narcissa was by all their questioning and talking, as
unwilling was she to make the smallest comment on the matter, not to speak of
her immense bewilderment. She didn’t understand half of the sexual innuendo and
frankly, she wasn’t sure how enthusiastic she could become of these things. It
sounded quite frightful when one listened to Jeanie or Martha. So far, she had
come to congratulate herself on Lucius’ pledge after all.
Other
than that, she had never been more supremely happy, now and then wondering
whether it wasn’t all just a dream. The only boy she had ever cared for was in
love with her and had asked her to be his wife, even her parents approved (one rather graciously, one not so much, alright), not
to mention old Mr Malfoy, who was so besotted with his future daughter-in-law
that he attempted to curb his grumpiness for her sake; in fact, the two of them
got along so splendidly that he was inclined to think little better of his son
even. There must be something about
the boy after all, he thought, if he had won the heart of such a formidable
young woman. Lucius couldn’t but marvel at his old man, though he didn’t have
too much time to ponder. Next to his other obligations, he spent hours each day
writing to his beloved while she was in school; it was the only way to be near
her during her absence, and he missed her like crazy. How he had ever managed
to be without her was as much a mystery to him as the question what he had done
to deserve her graciousness to love him. He had the vague impression that his
life would have taken very different turns in the past, if he had known then
that the most precious of hearts was his, had always been his, too.
Narcissa’s
only sorrow was that time was ticking away much too slowly, except for the
holidays, when it was flying by with the speed of an arrow. Her parents still kept
a close eye on her, engaged or not, and she couldn’t blame them after the
debacle of Andromeda’s pregnancy and Lucius having the reputation that he had. Their caution had at least one advantage – it
was slightly easier for the young couple to stick to Lucius’ self-imposed
reserve. If Narcissa had still been a little frightened of the concept of sex
in the Easter holidays, her desire had definitely conquered her anxiety in
summer. She got so excited when they kissed – she wanted more of him, much,
much more. She could feel the definition of his muscles underneath his robes,
and the warmer the weather, the less material there was to disguise them. The
darned Quidditch had shaped his body, making it fit and tight and strong, and
she dreamt of touching it; actually, she would have been quite content for a
start getting to see it. Thank god,
autumn came with thicker clothes, but unfortunately, also the start of her
seventh year, and another lengthy period where they could rarely see each
other.
So she
had to content herself with the so-called ‘little things’ – countless letters,
the orchids, lilies, roses he still sent her at least twice per week, rare
books, jewellery. As delighted as she was every morning when the post owls
arrived – no gift could seriously substitute for the sender. She missed him so
badly, and there was only one more Hogsmeade weekend before the Christmas
holidays, and both seemed endlessly far away still. Two of the secret passages
out of the school had been discovered because some idiotic Third Years had been
caught using them, and the third one that Narcissa knew of was only accessible
during new moon. A number of times, she had sneaked out of the boundaries
through the Forbidden Forest to meet her love, but after she had let it slip that she thought she had spotted a couple of werewolves in the
distance, Lucius strictly refused to meet her when she had to use this way out,
despite her assurances that she might have erred and they had merely been some
very large dogs.
In spite
of the necessary secrecy, Lucius hadn’t concealed his other commitment from
Narcissa. He had sworn an oath of lifelong service to the Dark Lord – unlike
his studies in College, he was devoted to the Dark Arts and worshipped his
master; this was what he really
wanted to do, what he was good at, what gave him the kicks. Narcissa hadn’t
been surprised. She had heard the rumours even before Bella had told her how
she had met Lucius; she had known his fancy for the Dark Arts and his general
enthusiasm for secret clubs. If she should have guessed who was bound to be
part of that mysterious order, she would have betted that Lucius was among
them, just like her own sister. This was just like them.
She found
the Dark Arts interesting – they were banned from Hogwarts, making them all the
more interesting, and she thought that Dumbledore was an old fool. All his
students knew curses, and this was, in short, what the Dark Arts were about –
curses, more or less dangerous curses. Instead of making such a miracle, nay – taboo out of them, he should treat them
as what they were; facts of life that needed to be dealt with. Taboos merely
attracted curiosity, made someone like this Lord Voldemort great. Dumbledore
was a hypocrite, that was the
problem. He’d have Defence Against
The Dark Arts taught, the whole subject was to learn curses that were neatly
labelled ‘counter-curses’, as if that was any different.
Still,
she didn’t feel the slightest inclination to join up herself when Bella
mentioned this possibility. She’d worship no master, certainly not, and she had
been amazed that Lucius would. On the other hand – his father had never been
the strong role-model he had been looking for, never given him the praise and
support he received from his master. So perhaps the Dark Order was just the right
thing, although she was more than suspicious about this lifelong service thing. Maybe it was just her jealousy; she wanted
to be the only one that he’d give lifelong oaths to.
She was
curious about the identity of this ‘Lord Voldemort’. From Lucius, she knew that
this one claimed to be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself, but that
might be a lie. Those were the rules of the so-called ‘street-credibility’,
claim to be of good stock, be tougher and more ruthless than the rest, create
some mystery about oneself, et voilà,
instant fame. She didn’t buy this. That Lord Voldemort might well be a genius,
but after all he was just human, and she wanted to get behind his secret. Who
was he? Where did he come from? And what the heck was he about? He didn’t strike
her like an altruist, just wishing to teach talented young magicians. He must
have a purpose, and since her fiancé had put all his eggs in this one basket,
she’d better find out.
She
started with the claim that he was a descendant of Slytherin. This was
comparably easy, all she had to do was checking the family chronicles and the
Hogwarts’ enrolment book. The Slytherin lineage had been extinct since the
eleventh century, but some female family members had married into other
dynasties. She carefully traced four dozen family trees, finding that the only
contemporary family that could claim a connection were the Gaunts. Of course,
none of the pure-blooded families would have come through without marrying
their own cousins every now and then – just like her Uncle Orion had married
his second grade cousin Walburga (and look what
had come out of it!) – but the marriage records of the Gaunts were truly
appalling. For goodness’ sake! However, the last two children of this bloodline
were dead, too, according to the records. Merope Gaunt had died in the Twenties, aged twenty-two. Morfin Gaunt had died in Azkaban in the Fifties.
Neither of them seemed to have got any children, ergo their line was extinct,
ergo there was no living relative of old Salazar. Lord Voldemort was a fraud,
at least concerning his parentage.
This sort
of discovery was better not put in a
letter, so she decided to wait for the next Hogsmeade weekend and tell Lucius
personally. This was lucky, for it spared her a mistake – because two days
later, she received a rather formal note from her sister Andromeda – who still
hadn’t forgiven her for her engagement to Lucius Malfoy, just like Narcissa
hadn’t forgiven her the unpardonable reaction to those news. Attached to a few
courtesy phrases was a photo of the little family, which Narcissa contemplated
now. – Andy looked very happy. She beamed at her husband, cuddled her baby
daughter and nothing in the picture betrayed the worries they must be having.
Cygnus had fulfilled his threats and taken care that Ted got no good job,
neither in the Ministry nor elsewhere. He thought he could convince his
daughter like this to abandon her husband and return with her ‘misbegotten
bastard child’ to her wealthy family’s bosom. Thank god, he had no idea that
his own wife undermined his scheming by secretly slipping Andy a good deal of
galleons here and there, ‘to keep them from starving’, as she would say.
‘Misbegotten
bastard child’… This rang a different kind of bell in her head. Not every
family member would necessarily appear on the official family trees, right? She
had merely checked Hogwarts’ Great Book for possible omissions, but she hadn’t
thought of checking whether any of them had ‘unofficial’ children with
unsuitable partners, or children that would appear nowhere because they had
been born out of wedlock…
She went
through the chronicles and alumni books once again, counterchecking with the
Great Book. No. No. No… She had almost given up when coming across a few odd
entries. Lucius had estimated his master’s age – he didn’t really know, but the Dark Lord was friendly
with some of the older members, making it seem as if they knew each other of
old, so if he had indeed been in school with Rodolphus’ uncle and Mr Rosier, he
must be in his mid-forties, five years more or less…
She
checked every single entry in the Great Book between 1915 and 1935, which took
her two days on total. There were lots of possible candidates. There had been a
Muggle war in that period, costing many wizards’ lives, too, leaving orphaned
children, mothers who’d marry anew, mothers who hadn’t managed to marry the
father of their child before this one’s death… She came across her old friend
Tom Riddle again and smiled. He was too young to be an indirect victim of that
war, and too old to lose his parents in the next. In the colon with the
parents’ names, there were two little ‘orph.’,
his residential address was from a Muggle orphanage. Tom Marvolo Riddle… What
might have become of him, eh? Hang on… Marvolo… Marvolo… This was no common
Muggle name, for a start, and what was more – she had read that quite rare name
elsewhere already. Could that boy have a Muggle mother, who had named him after
his wizard father? There were only two possible suspects – Ignatius Marvolo
Harper, born in 1851, died in 1930, and strangely enough, Marvolo Fengon Gaunt,
born in 1868, died in 1925. Harper, it turned out, had suffered from a
lingering disease in the last fifteen years of his life; it was unlikely that
he had still fathered a son in that time. As for Marvolo… Something else caught
her eye in that moment. Marvolo’s daughter Merope had died on December 31st,
1925 – which was the day of Tom Marvolo Riddle’s birth!
She
compared the two photographs in the annuals, dismissing the idea as nonsense.
Merope was positively ugly, while Tom looked fantastic. They could impossibly
be mother and son! Well, perhaps the father had been good-looking…? But why
would some handsome Muggle get involved with a witch that had some resemblance
with a hag? Why would a witch become involved with a Muggle anyway? ‘Because he was handsome’, she scolded
herself, ‘and because she would know
some means to an end to make him fancy her, too…’ She went through the books
once more, this time exclusively focusing on Tom Riddle and Merope Gaunt. Tom
had received a medal for special services to the school. It wasn’t expressly
stated, but she found it rather obvious that this service must have something
to do with a certain incident that year – 1942 – in which a student had been
killed.
But Tom
wouldn’t have been rewarded for opening the Chamber of Secrets. He would have
been kicked out of the school, more like, if not incarcerated in Azkaban
straightaway! ‘Oh, come on, stupid!’ She scolded herself again. If a brilliant wizard committed some
crime, he’d surely be able to blame someone else for it. More moronic people
than him had managed this. He could have opened the Chamber to see what was
inside, out of mere curiosity, simply because he could… And then, a girl had been killed, and a culprit had been needed
to be found, and surely, Tom hadn’t had the least intention to pay for it
himself and be expelled. She grinned triumphantly. That was the reason of this medal! She just knew it. He had got a
medal because he had found out the ‘culprit’ – and he had found him out because
he had planted the evidence himself. Of course! Anyone with half a brain would
have done the same!
She was
absolutely thrilled. After admiring Tom Riddle, the brilliant, incomparable Tom
Riddle, for so long, wondering what he might be doing nowadays and envying his
excellence, she had finally discovered his secrets. He was Salazar Slytherin’s last heir. She would have wagered her
right arm that he had changed his name to ‘Lord Voldemort’ and decided to
become a true expert in the Dark Arts.
Wasn’t
this ironic? And rather wonderful? Lucius should have bound himself to Tom
Riddle of all persons? The brilliant, brilliant Tom Riddle? Whom she had
admired for so long? Seen in this new light, the duty of kneeling down before
one’s master appeared a whole lot less repulsive to her. This was after all a worthy
master!
That
evening, she walked past a couple of First Years in the Common Room who were
playing Crabbed, and just sorted out the small letter plates before them. One
had gained a hundred and ten points by spelling ‘OXYMORON’, which wouldn’t have
been bad for a First Year, if he had spelled it correctly.
“It’s ‘oxymoron’, with a simple n,” Narcissa
remarked indifferently while passing them. “Not oxymoronne. You cannot put that there.”
The other
boy gave a spiteful cackle and instantly crossed out his friend’s points. “You
hear her, Fancourt! It’s my turn, and I’ll take the ‘oxy’ over there for
‘oxygen’ and the ‘moron’ here, for that’s what you are!”
As a
child, Narcissa had often played this, beating both her sisters and their parents in style. Where would
that board be now? Had her mother kept it? She had been invincible in this
game. Some hours later, lying in her bed and thinking once more of her amazing
discovery, that talent of old helped her, delivering the last missing piece in
her chain of evidence. She was racking her brains why on earth Tom Riddle had
chosen that utterly ridiculous title. A wizard as clever as him, and the best
pseudonym he could come up with was Lord
Voldemort?! No wonder that people didn’t dare to speak it – they must be
afraid of bursting out with laughter!
‘Tom
Marvolo Riddle, what was in your head, eh?’ – In that second, it made click.
Just click. TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE – this
was almost LORD VOLDEMORT, except for
three superfluous letters, ‘a’, ‘i’ and ‘m’… That was it! ‘I am Lord Voldemort’! Was it too far-fetched? No, it was not!
She was a hundred percent sure, this could
be no coincidence!
She was
so impatient to tell her fiancé these exciting news, she could hardly wait.
What was more – she missed him so badly anyway that she suggested in her next
letter that he ought to come to Hogwarts and watch the next Quidditch match,
which was Slytherin versus Gryffindor, the old evergreen. It’d be the perfect
pretext for him to come – not even Slughorn would permit him to come to the
school only to meet his fiancée, they had tried it. But he wasn’t going to mind
the old Team Captain coming to watch a match! And he didn’t; Lucius got the
permission without further ado, causing the old Professor to wink at Narcissa
whenever he mentioned the subject.
This was
her second Quidditch match ever, and it was as awful as she had remembered from
her first. Fourteen students on the brink of getting themselves killed, only to
get some stupid balls through some stupid loops… But what did she care; she was
sitting next to her beloved, pressing his hand. Lucius was torn between his
genuine interest in the match – he wouldn’t trust his eyes, the team was
playing abysmally! – and his even more genuine affection for his fiancée, whom
he hadn’t seen in four weeks. He tried a compromise, explaining everything that
was happening on the pitch to her.
“That
Potter kid is good,” he gnarled wryly, following one of the Gryffindor chasers
with his eyes. “If only he were playing for us!”
“He’s a
mate of my dreadful cousin.”
“That
doubles the shame… – What the heck have they done to my team, for Merlin’s
sake!”
“I know
something that’s bound to lift your spirits, honey!”
He
suppressed a chuckle and turned to her, pecking a kiss on her cheek. “And I
know some cosy spots for that, indeed!”
“Oh, so I
know two things to cheer you up
then.”
He looked
curious, and straight after the obligate chat with his old Head of House, after
the match, they headed for one of the greenhouses, which was out of use for
several years now. “What did you want to tell me, my angel?”
“First
things first, mon trésor…” She nibbled on his throat and played with the
buttons of his robes, and the afternoon’s flush of happy spirits made her almost
forget her big secret. Fortunately, she remembered when they were on their way
back. “Do you happen to remember Tom Riddle, darling?”
“Who?”
She
beckoned to make a short stop in the next best broom closet, keen not to be
overheard by anyone. This was her
great discovery! “Tom Riddle, mon amour. The one with that fabulous OWL result
that I wanted to best.”
“One
trillion points boy, you mean?”
“That’s
the one. You know how I always wondered what he’s doing now. With all his
talent!”
He arched
a brow. “I know you’re a bit obsessed with that bloke, Cissa, but if you’ve
already got me here, I’d know better things to do with you than discussing that
weirdo!”
“I bet
you’ll be terribly interested in him,
once I tell you what I’ve found out!”
“Let me
guess…” He pulled her close and let his hand glide into her robes once more.
“He’s the inventor of – hm… He’s invented a broom stick? Anything to do with
Quidditch?”
“You’re so on the wrong track, love. For a start
– he’s changed his name since then, that’s why I never read anything about him
anywhere.”
“I’d get
rid of that Muggle name, too, if I was him. – This perfume drives me crazy, you
know that?”
Utterly
distraught, he muttered between two kisses, “Excuse me?”
“He’s
taken on quite a career, and I know you admire him endlessly.”
She
grinned, even more when he replied, “I do rarely admire half-bloods and Muggleborns,
and that’s what he is, if I remember correctly.”
“Trust
me, you worship this one.”
“There
are but two people in this world that I worship, mon ange, and you’re one of
them.” He had found the little spot in the small of her neck that made her lose
her last bits of composure when he kissed it and made her gasp.
“I am one
of them,” she breathed and closed her eyes, enjoying the caress. “And Tom Riddle
is the other.”
“No, the
Dark Lord is the other.”
“Yes,
that’s what I’m saying.”
His hands
came to a halt, and opening her eyes again, she found him stare at her in sheer
incredulity. “I beg your pardon?!”
“I’m not
saying this lightly, Lucius. Trust me. I’ve checked it over and over again. Tom
Marvolo Riddle was born on December 31st in 1925, his mother Merope
died after his birth. She was a born Gaunt, who happened to be the last living
relations of Salazar Slytherin –”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Nope,
I’m perfectly serious, even though it’s hard with your hands where they’re now…
Anyway, Tom Marvolo, doubtlessly named for his grandfather Marvolo Gaunt,
turned out to be the most brilliant student that this school has seen in more
than one millennium. He has taken his name and exchanged the letters, very
easily. It’s an anagram, you see? Take the letters of his name, and you get ‘I
am Lord Voldemort’.”
“No!”
“Yes!
It’s either this, or a very unlikely coincidence, which would also include a
lie about your master’s descent. Salazar Slytherin hasn’t got any other
possible descendant. I’ve spent ages in the library to make sure.”
“No!”
“Isn’t it
fantastic? I just had to tell you!
You know, I was always a bit intrigued by that whole master-and-servant thing –
you’re no one’s servant, mon amour,
you could never be. But learning from Tom
Riddle – he’s a total genius! You couldn’t have found yourself a more
worthy teacher!”
He was
still staring at her, speechless, but not quite as enraptured as she had
expected. “You – you must be mistaken, Cissa… He can’t be a Mudblood! He hates
them!”
“Language,
darling! And that he hates them – oh well. That’s easy enough to understand, isn’t
it? Just imagine, from your mother’s side, you belong to great Salazar
Slytherin, and your father hasn’t got enough magic in him to conjure up a cup of
tea? Take one look at poor Severus’ situation and you know where his aversion
comes from!”
“But –
but – he’s my master!”
“Yes! So
what? He’s not a tad less brilliant, only because his father was a non-entity.”
She quickly reported everything she had found out, about the Chamber of
Secrets, about the medal he had got. On the one hand, Lucius increasingly believed
her, on the other hand his devastation grew, too. Like her, he didn’t consider
himself as anybody’s servant. He
would only kneel down for the greatest sorcerer in the world, and he somehow
couldn’t digest the fact that this one should be a Muggle bastard. Narcissa
noticed his uneasiness, anxiously asking whether she had better kept her mouth
shut on this issue.
“Nonsense,
mon ange.” He kissed her hand. “Knowing is always better than not-knowing.”
“I didn’t
think it would affect you so much! I thought you’d be pleased to hear what a
total genius he is after all,” she said awkwardly.
“Don’t
worry, sweetness. I’m just so surprised, that’s all!”
He smiled
at her and brushed a kiss on her forehead, wondering if that remark could
technically be counted as a lie. Because he wasn’t simply surprised – he was shocked
beyond expression. He didn’t want to upset her, but if this was lying – well, in that
case he had just told his beloved the first lie ever.
* Tutemet… You will be
astonished!
*****
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