Harry's First Espionage
JACK RIDDLE: DARK LORD IN THE MAKING OR MOODY TEEN?
Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
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The wizarding world is abuzz with whispers and rumors about Jack Riddle, the young Slytherin student who is thought to be the son of the infamous He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. With his striking good looks, undeniable charm, and prodigious magical talents, Riddle has captured the fascination and fear of students and faculty alike at Hogwarts.
But is this youth merely a misunderstood loner, or is he destined to follow in his father's evil footsteps? That is the question on everyone's lips as reports of Riddle's strange behavior raise alarming concerns.
"He's always by himself or with that creepy little group of Slytherin cronies," says one frightened Hufflepuff student who wished to remain anonymous. "They give us all the willies. It's like they're plotting something sinister."
Indeed, this reporter witnessed the brooding Riddle perusing outdated tomes of questionable subject matter during a recent trip to Hogsmeade's seedier bookshop establishments. One can only speculate as to the nature knowledge he sought among those dusty volumes—dark, or mundane?
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[A moving photograph depicts Jack Riddle examining the spines of several large tomes, his brow furrowed in intense concentration as his fingers slowly rove over the lettering of various titles.]
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Feeding the gossip fire are the reports of Riddle openly clashing with Harry Potter himself. In a shocking incident, the two were said to have had an intense confrontation in the halls of Hogwarts, culminating in Riddle allegedly raising his wand against the Boy Who Lived. The reasons for such hostility remain unclear, creating further seeds of mistrust.
Talented but terrifying? Clever but callous? Only time will tell if Jack Riddle will emerge as a danger to the wizarding world or merely an ordinary young wizard. But wise parents may want to steer their children clear of Riddle until the full truth comes to light.
“Is my jaw really shaped like that?” Jack wondered aloud, idly tracing along the line of his jaw with his pointer finger. Jack had never been particularly photogenic in his previous life, so it was a bit odd to be staring at his “own” face in profile on the front page of a newspaper, especially when it looked as if he were less of a potential public menace and more of a teen heartthrob du jour.
Jack heard a sigh from Pansy Parkinson, followed by a whispered, “Yes, it does,” which made him grimace. Good God, how did the blokes in boy bands stomach constant prepubescent swooning?
Jack continued skimming over the article, feeling it was a bit tacky for his tastes, but Skeeter had more or less done what he’d expected. He just hoped someone particularly evil and wizard racist would send a bit of spare change his way about it. He had moved on to staring in boredom at the little holiday candles lining the tables when he heard the shuffling of shoes behind him. Jack ground his teeth together in immediate annoyance, before turning in his seat.
Draco Malfoy stood behind him, looking very gangly and awkward in his 12 year old way. Kids have goddamn big heads, he thought.
“Riddle,” Malfoy said, with an aborted motion and a cringe as if he had just been about to bow to Jack before he realized how immensely dorkish it would come across. Jack caught Flint turning away to hunch over and snicker about it from the corner of his eye.
“I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t like blondes and I don’t like children.” Jack said. Malfoy looked as if he may piss himself. Jack really hoped he didn’t.
“I don’t—um—well, I don’t mean to bother you, really, but my father is on the Board of Governors, and they’ve been talking a lot, and think it really would be best if—?!” Malfoy let out a little affronted, startled yelp as Jack made a little motion with his hand, thinking get this thing away from me. Malfoy was dragged back by a bit of magic, stumbling on the way as he was tossed back into his seat at the other end of the table.
Jack placed a hand at his temple, shaking his head slowly as he turned back around to eat his peas.
“That may have been important.” said Zabini, separating the whites from the yolk of his egg and not looking up.
“That’s wonderful. I really couldn't care even if he were telling me I had been elected as the Prime Minister in my sleep. He’s like a little bird chirping incessantly at my feet, and I think I’d like to throw him in front of a train.” Jack said. There was a beat of silence where Jack figured everyone was going to think, What an odd thing to say! and then move on, but after the pause, everyone sitting within earshot immediately turned to each other and began muttering, and Jack caught Farley staring at him with furrowed brows and a pale face.
“The fuck are you looking at?” he asked, and she shook her head and averted her gaze. Jack felt very annoyed, and shut his own mouth for a moment to listen to the whispers.
“Could he have meant... could he really… mean for us?... minister…. The Ministry…. if he means to be…. it’s a long way off…. Years from now…. Minister of Magic… could he really do it?”
Jack grimaced. He wished he hadn’t tried to listen. What, did they think was planning to run for some government office in a few years? Did any of these kids understand the concept of a bloody joke? Jack wasn’t even quite sure what a Minister of Magic was—perhaps it was like the Lindt Master Chocolatier for magic. Jack turned slightly to glance at the Gryffindor table, quite curious as to whether or not Ginny was being prodded about Skeeter’s little article, and found that she was, apparently, by one of her 46 brothers. Jack also made brief eye contact with a very furious little Harry Potter behind his massive, crooked glasses, and rolled his eyes and turned away.
“You look pissed off,” said Flint.
“Is it a bit tacky to get day drunk at 15?” Jack asked. Flint blinked, and then broke out in a wide, crooked toothed grin.
“No. It’s what I get up to every Saturday.” he said. Jack looked at him curiously, and then pointed at him.
“I like you, Flint.” he said. He heard Farley make a bit of a noise across from him, and when he looked at her she was glowering at Flint like she was thinking about launching across the table and strangling him. Jack had no idea what that was about, but he wasn’t hungry anymore and had no desire to hang around these morons more than he needed to. He stood and left the Great Hall.
✦
Harry was having quite a wonderful Christmas. There was a sort of gut churning anxiety in his stomach that had refused to go away ever since Jack Riddle had shown up, and the fuss over Rita Skeeter’s article the week before had only roused the gossip and rumors again, which did nothing to help Harry feel any less nauseous.
Regardless—it was tough to feel put out during Christmas time at Hogwarts. Christmas had never been Harry’s favorite Holiday, and he wasn't entirely sure that he had a favorite holiday before he’d come to Hogwarts. Christmas with the Dursleys had never really felt much different from any other day. Harry would make breakfast and dinner and then get sent to the cupboard. Harry hadn’t even really been sure that Christmas was a Holiday until he asked what exactly it was in primary school.
His teacher had been confused and asked if he celebrated something else, and Harry had said he didn’t celebrate anything. Harry had a lot of fun joining in on the Christmas activities for the day, like making gingerbread houses and handprint decorations for the tree. But then the Dursley’s had told his teacher that Indians didn’t celebrate Christmas, and then Harry had to go to a different classroom during holiday activities. Harry was never sure how true that was, and he’d always been doubtful that the Durlsey’s knew much about India anyways. Vernon had once said it was in Africa, after all.
Now that Harry was at Hogwarts, he figured he did know a bit more than the Dursley’s. He knew the Patil twins didn’t celebrate Christmas, but Riyan Joshi in Ravenclaw did. Harry sometimes wondered if he’d celebrate Christmas or something else if his parents were still alive, but he also didn’t like to spend too much time wondering what anything would be like if they were still around.
But Harry’s friends celebrated it—and the people he loved gave him gifts and included them in their celebrations, and the Hogwarts Christmas feast was no laughing matter. It was difficult to focus on that when the most delicious chicken you’ve ever had is sitting just in front of you on the table.
Everyone was singing carols in vastly different keys, and Harry couldn’t stop smiling. Even Malfoy boasting loudly at the Slytherin table about his gifts didn’t bother him much. Ginny was sitting at the Gryffindor table at least, smushed between the twins as they rocked back and forth and knocked her between them like a ping pong ball. Ron had been more than a little concerned that she might choose to sit with Riddle at Christmas, and looked near tears when she sat with them. Riddle, for his part, appeared to be asleep at the Slytherin table, head down in his arms and surrounded by quite a bit of presents and letters that had come in by Owl earlier.
Harry was reaching for a bit of pudding when Hermione suddenly stood up and grabbed him and Ron by the hoods of their robes. She had a bit of frosting on her nose.
“Excuse you, woman!” Ron whined, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Excuse you, Ronald. In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve still got to get bits from—” Hermione stopped talking, and shot a glance at Ginny, who was looking at them with an amused smile as Hermione man handled them. Her little smile turned into a frown at the way Hermione stammered as she realized the other girl was watching. Hermione lowered her voice, turning away.
“From you know. For… our purposes.” she said. Ron and Harry blinked at her.
“You sound like a crime lord.” said Harry, only to wince when she knocked him on the head, and dragged them both towards the doors.
“I didn’t finish eating yet! Ten more minutes wouldn’t kill us.” said Ron. Hermione sniffed.
“Ten minutes might’ve killed you, with all of the sweets you’ve been eating. You should be thanking me.”
Harry tuned out their bickering. He’d hoped to avoid thinking about their plan—Hermione’s plan, really, as the thought of it made him feel a bit ill—for the whole feast, and he needed a few minutes to himself to mope.
✦
“Ready?” Hermione asked through the stall doors as they each held their portions of Polyjuice Potion. No, thought Harry, miserably, I’m going to cry. It looked disgusting and didn’t smell much better. He was also anxious about the idea of turning into someone else—what if it hurt? What if it was irreversible?
“Ready,” said Ron.
“Ready.” said Harry, his voice cracking on the a.
“ReAdy!” mocked Ron, and Harry felt blood rush to his cheeks.
Harry heard a bang that thought might’ve been Hermione kicking Ron’s stall and quick yelp from Ron.
“One, two, three!” said Hermione, and Harry drank the potion, and immediately felt it fighting to come back out. It hurt terribly, and he couldn’t focus on anything else as his body shifted and bubbled around him, and his insides felt as if he’d had dozens of worms wriggling around beneath his skin. Harry grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, falling against the wall of the stall, grimacing as he scrambled to take off his robes. He nearly doubled over and nearly vomited, until it all just stopped.
The only sounds in the bathroom were the breathless panting of both him and Ron and Hermione, as well as the dripping of water from some loose pipe.
“Merlin,” Ron gasped in an accent different from his own.. “Did you make that right, ‘Mione?”
“It’s…. Oh, it’s supposed to be like that, really, I think it gets better with practice!” Hermione said in someone else's voice.
Harry took a moment to gather himself, looking at his hands, which were longer, and his skin, which was a few shades lighter. Harry supposed he looked quite a bit like Sylvan Morrow, one of three Slytherin third years that were currently dozing away after Fred and Geroge slipped them some sleeping potions. They’d been more than happy to help, especially when it concerned Ginny and Riddle. Harry thinks they’re far more concerned than they’re willing to let on. They’d gotten oddly serious when they first told them what they’d overheard Ginny and Riddle talking about that one night.
Harry slipped out of the stall a minute later, still a bit wobbly on his feet. Hermione now had the long black hair and pointy features of Robyn Smythe, and Ron had the curly brown hair and crooked nose of Noah Belmont.
“This is so weird.” Harry said, and then grimaced. It was bizarre to have such a different voice coming out of his mouth.
“Tell me about it.” murmured Ron, and Hermione lifted her wand to change their uniforms from red and gold to green and silver. She smoothed down her uniform and took in a deep breath.
“Well! The twins said the password is Pure-blood,” Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes at that, and Ron and Harry both scoffed. “They also said the common room is in the dungeon, but I’m not really sure where.”
“They couldn’t draw you a map?” Harry whined.
“Apparently not. But! We’ve just got to find it.” she said, and promptly turned on her heel.
“She’s a bit too chipper, isn’t she?” Ron asked miserably.
“Yeah.” Harry sighed, equally miserable.
✦
Ron, Harry, and Hermione were all sitting at a little rounded table, trying not to look too out of place. They had a pile of random books around them to look like they were studying and hopefully deter anyone from trying to talk to them. Hermione was already scribbling on a parchment and quill, but Harry had no clue what she could be writing about. Nothing was even happening.
Riddle wasn’t even in the common room at the moment, so Harry was stuck fidgeting with his fingers and glancing around nervously. He fiddled with his fingers and picked at his nails—ugh, were they even his? Ron was slouched in his own chair, impatient tapping his foot. It was driving Harry a bit mad.
Harry’s gaze drifted to a couch near the big Christmas tree, where Malfoy was sitting with Crabbe and Goyle. They had a platter of expensive looking holiday chocolates, and seemed to be sampling them together. Harry snickered and ducked his head when Crabbe attempted to hand one to Goyle and accidentally smashed the chocolate into Malfoy’s temple.
Ten minutes later, Harry and Ron had been reduced to playing chopsticks. Ron kept winning, and Hermione kept scolding them under breath to at least pretend to study before their “idiocy” drew attention to themselves. Honestly, Harry wasn’t sure anyone really cared much what they were doing.
Two more games of chopsticks later, and the common room door opened. Harry turned his head, and then nearly fell out of his seat when he realized it was Riddle—and Ginny.
“Guys!” he whispered, smacking Ron’s hand. They both glanced over, and Ron glowered rather obviously while Hermione sharply returned to jotting down notes.
They both carried stacks of books in their arms, and moved to couches near the fireplace.
“Move.” Riddle said, and the younger Slytherins who had been chatting there quickly scrambled away, looking terrified. Harry frowned, but he shouldn’t have been surprised to see that Riddle was a bully to those in his own house. Harry watched Ginny closely, looking for some sort of nerves or fear on her face, but there was nothing. At worst, she maybe looked a bit aggrieved to be carrying so many books.
“Hermione, what’re all those books?” Ron muttered, leaning closer to her. Harry thought Hermione might’ve looked a bit flustered.
“I’m looking. I can’t see all of the covers from here, but I’ll write down what I can see.” she said, ducking her head as her quill darted across the parchment.
Ginny tied up her hair and sat criss-cross opposite to Riddle, who crossed his legs and opened a book from the top of his stack, his foot bouncing impatiently. Riddle and Ginny didn’t talk for a while, both with their noses buried in their little books. After a moment, Hermione slid the parchment over so Ron and Harry could see.
- Maledictions: A ??? Encyclopedia of Curses
- Binding Forces: A Study of Constraint Magic
- [Possibly “sanguine”] Exploring Blood-Based[?] Enchantments
- ???
- Unlocking the Veil [?]
- Covenant Incantations: Pacts, Oaths and Unbreakable Vows
- Defense Against Defense Against the Dark Arts
- Sigil Mastery: The Language of ???
- Money Matters: Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Being Your Own Boss ???
- Dodgy Dealings for Dummies: A Beginner's Guide to Borderline Dark Arts
- An ??? Tractate [?] on the Arts of Haematomancy [? best guess] and Ritual Invocations
Harry frowned.
“Sounds evil.” he said.
“Hem.. Hama.. Tomatomancy… Haemrne… What in Merlin’s name could they possibly be trying to find?”
Hermione shook her head, gazing over the list.
“It looks like they’re looking at a lot of things about sigils, binding magic, and blood magic.” she said.
“Riddle said he was feeding off Gin,” Ron said, spitting out the word feeding like it was dirt. “Maybe how they did it is in one of those books. Like Harry said. Sounds evil.”
“Yeah, but… I can understand further study, but if Riddle’s already gone through with… whatever he has Ginny wrapped up in, why so many books on such broad topics?”
“Seems like it’s all dark magic though, right?” Harry asked. Hermione shook her head.
“Yes, but no. Different types of magic have different types of applications. You could use blood magic to make some sort of… binding, parasitic bond, sure, but you could also use it to make healing potions or particularly strong wards of protection. If we tried to look for whatever Riddle did to her in those, it’d probably be like trying to learn how to fix your television through a book on the history of the study of electricity.”
“Who’s studying that?” Ron asked. Hermione and Harry glanced at each other, and Hermione waved him off.
“That—that doesn’t matter. There’s no way to—” She hushed suddenly, and they all tuned in as Ginny spoke up.
“What about this?” she asked, and Riddle looked up from his own book with a cocked brow. He set his book down in his lap and leaned forward, and Harry thought for a second that he moved like some sort of bird, elegant, like a crane. It was an odd thought, and Harry shook his head to rid his mind of it. Ginny showed Riddle the page and read a section to him.
"Dolorum Gemina is an advanced binding ritual that links two wixen in an unnatural sympathetic bond. It requires an intricate ritual ceremony to be properly performed before the incantation can take effect. Dolorum Gemina causes all bodily harm inflicted on either participant to be shared equally between the two bound individuals. Any curse, jinx, or injurious spell that strikes one of the pair will instead strike both but have its effects halved. This same equal distribution applies to any beneficial spells or healing magic as well. Restorative enchantments or curative potions will also have their efficacy split between the pair,” she read, and then looked up at him. “What do you think?” she asked. Riddle made a face, and then shrugged a shoulder.
“Dolorum Gemina. Twin of Sorrows in Latin, I think.” he said.
“He knows Latin. Wonder if he knows spellcrafting,” Ron muttered. “Would explain all of his wandless, wordless magic.” Hermione blinked, and then moved to jot that down.
“I don’t think that’s it,” Riddle continued. Harry heard Ron curse as Riddle lowered his voice, Ginny leaning forward to hear him. Harry only caught some of it. “... gives me power. Not… hit Potter, not the both of us.”
Ginny sighed, and slumped back into her seat.
“Ugh. This sucks. And it’s boring.” she said.
“God, I know.” Riddle said, and dragged a hand down his face.
Hermione turned to say something to them, only for her eyes to go a bit wide.
“What is it?” Harry asked.
“Um. Ron’s looking a bit ginger.” she said. Ron’s hands flew up to his hair, and Harry looked too. Sure enough, Noah Belmont’s brown curls were beginning to turn orange.
“Shit.” Ron said.
“Have some decorum!” Hermione scolded, hitting him with her parchment as she gathered her things. “Well, in any case, we ought to leave before we get caught and get detention.”
Harry and Ron joined her in gathering their things, and Ron flipped up the hood of his robes to cover his hair.
“I’d be more concerned about getting caught and then Riddle killing us, but alright.” he muttered. Harry snickered. Hermione glared at them both, and Harry pursed his lips and looked away as if he hadn’t done anything. She ushered them up and out of their seats, and the three of them got the hell out of the Slytherin common room.