Borgin’s and Blood
—Harriet PoV
I’ve recently came to the conclusion that Tamelyn Riddle is a slave driver. She, somehow, seems to have gotten the idea that since I’m hosting her I should be held up to a standard ‘worthy’ for her host. Which meant a lot of things, but most importantly the sudden disappearance of almost all of my free time.
Typically in the weeks preceding Hogwarts I would be reviewing old books or messing about with the Weasley’s. This year however, I’m confined to Diagon Alley, and despite my wishes to explore the place Tamelyn has me locked to the central avenue six days out of seven. Sunday’s are the exception, but even that’s more her dragging me around to see what’s different about her ‘favoured’ establishments. While interesting it does mean I haven’t had the chance to even take more than a glance at anything in particular, joke and food stores overlooked for obscure magical tomes and enchantments. All of which getting an informative, if winding, lecture from the spirit about the developments and uses for each and every one of them.
Some of which I’ve bought, like a foe’s glass and a beginners book on Alchemy - which is apparently a NEWT level elective at Hogwarts - that I picked up out of curiosity born mostly in part due to my affinity, but most of it is left idly by simply because I don’t have a use for it. Vampire blood and eye extractors aren’t typically things I’m fond of seeing, and I have some suspicion they’re undoubtedly illegal to boot considering Tamelyn layers a variety of disguising charms over me whenever I go down Knokturn alley. Which holds all of the more bizarre and rare items she holds interest in.
Otherwise the rest of the time I’m left studying in my room at the Leaky Cauldron or at the library on Flutterbook’s. Going over the old papers is typically fruitless for me, but between looking for mentions of Black and updating Tamelyn’s gossip - ‘political information’ - it’s become a daily grind of hours of time. Half a day sometimes, but usually an hour or two spent amongst dusty old papers. With the rest going to my studies on other matters, like the foundations of magic.
Between Tamelyn’s cursing about Dumbledore and most of Hogwart’s staff - Snape, in particular, getting an earful and a half the first I spoke of him - I've learnt a lot. Both about magic and the wizarding world in general. Apparently noble houses and such are a thing, though all the titles were made meaningless in the wake of some revolution two hundred years back. Only things important regarding politics - or ministry in this case - are seats on the council of Wizengamot, which consists of either paid or elected positions, and your position within the government itself. Tamelyn says there's a lot more to it than that but admittedly also intended to burn the entire system to ash and turn it into a monocracy. Aka give her absolute control over everything in the Wizarding World, for Britain at least which is all she really cares about.
‘Sure, I could go after the rest of the world but it’d be wasteful. The British isles are always going to be my home so I may as well make it great.’ Or so she said anyway, she isn’t exactly consistent about the ‘why’ behind her other selves campaign. On the magic side of things I’ve learnt much more interesting things: the actual reasoning behind potion’s - ‘which should be mandatory learning’ -, some symbology for alchemy, runes and Arithmancy, and some divination and stuff on magical creatures. As a result of all this, and Tamelyn’s whining - ‘I don’t whine’ - I’ve dropped divination.
It’s just utter horse-crack. Tamelyn’s also pushed me to taking Ancient Runes and Arithmancy because the former is ‘the fundamental language of magic’ and the latter is ‘utterly essential for Alchemy’. So a letter and reply from McGonagall - who supported the choice unsurprisingly - and I’m now taking CoMC, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as electives. Surprisingly Tamelyn didn’t complain about CoMC, and she’s surprisingly enthusiastic when lecturing about them. Probably one of her favourite subjects, both it and the very illegal magics she lectures on give her a different aura somehow compared to the rest. It feels more… human. As human as a disembodied voice can be.
Humming lightly I let my thoughts fade back away into my mind as I flip to the next page in a long winding book on divination. Or symbology to be precise, which is overall more useful and covered primarily in Astronomy. All of magic is symbolic in some way, shape or form, you just need to know where to look. Flipendo’s wand motions are to mimic turning something over for instance, which could be represented by the symbols for change. But not the symbols of duality or two co-existing forms which is dedicated solely to Transfiguration.
The sun and moon in particular are a representation of change, the moon more powerful due to its longer shifting nature. Basing a potion recipe on them could lengthen or shorten ingredient stirring or processing, I never knew how oddly elegant it all was. Proof that Snape is really just a shit teacher, he does actually have us brew using the right recipes on the right dates or times though, probably because if he didn’t the entire room would be filled with explosions.
‘No, somebody would’ve died within a week.’ Tamelyn mutters halfheartedly at the back of my mind. Surfacing from whatever equates as sleep to a disembodied memory holding form by latching onto the Soul of a healthy young girl. Actually how is this even possible? I wonder for the first time, a thought brought into being by a mix of a newfound forcedly gained studious habit and distance to the plague of simplemindedness that is the Dursleys.
The first rule of Alchemy is that the Soul is immutable. So how can one create a simulacrum that can extend beyond the medium it was held in, Tamelyn’s been beyond the diary for over a month now without any signs of decay or degradation. Why? And so I ask her, to which she chuckles oddly in reply.
‘Alchemy’s rules only apply to Alchemy, there are ways to create a simulacrum from a fragment of one’s Soul. But all of it falls under Necromancy, and it’s far from the pretty kind. But you are right in that any simulacrum cannot last beyond its medium, I am something far greater than a mere simulacrum.’
Ignoring how there can be considered a ‘pretty kind’ of Necromancy. My mind ruminates her words. ‘Then what exactly are you then?’ I ask curiously.
She chuckles again. ‘That’s for you to figure out, Necromancy is a good start for your search.’ Ah yes how could I forget, sometimes Tamelyn gets extremely smug and cryptic when certain stuff comes up. Notably with the chamber, her life and especially regarding her relation to her other self. It’s honestly annoying as hell. More so because she clearly knows what’s going on, she just chooses to tempt my curiosity and test me instead. To find an answer myself, not that I have.
She’s annoying, murderous, mad and hypocritical to the highest degree. But despite all that she’s a really good teacher, or tutor I guess in this case, which sometimes only serves to pissing me off. Tossing my book aside, words and contents forgotten in favour of the new mystery tugging at my heart’s curiosity I hop out of bed and make my way into the tavern and then the street beyond.
In a small out of noticed corner by Flourish and Blot’s I mutter inwardly. ‘Riddle, the charms.’ And with humouring intent my body temporarily shifted from my control as my wand flicked and bent and swerved around me. Crafting an intricate web of localised Ward’s bound temporarily to my heart as a focus, disguising me in a very wasteful yet obscure manner that few know of, fewer perform and even fewer still could see through. Yet at the same time it’s detectable to even the slightest of the magically inclined.
Perfect for disguising oneself in places few would question why someone of such skill would venture whilst still being reputed at the same time as powerful. The perfect disguise for entering a place like Knockturn Alley, Tamelyn had shifted my appearance into the visage of a handsome young man with short brown hair and a face ever so similar to hers yet sharper and more refined. Her’s was honestly rounded and more cute than noble, she didn’t have much height ei- a sharp needle of pain strikes through my skull as I wince in pain.
‘Think your next thoughts carefully.’ She ominously muttered as I cursed under my breath. Damn psycho, it’s not like I’m much better. Malnourishment makes growing tall basically impossible, so I’ll always be stunted and underdeveloped. If I wasn’t the ‘Girl-Who-Lived’ I’d probably get mistaken for a boy every few days with how I look.
‘Puberty does wonders on any Witches body.’ Tamelyn curtly did the equivalent of a mental sneer as she fell silent again. Her sinister Envy falling aside from my focus as I entered into the dingy, run-down rickety mess that was Knockturn Alley. Gleaming pearly eyes and crooked features glanced at me idly as I strode through the street with a fake confidence that took hours to get right. And with how much I’ve been using it, it’ll probably slip into my regular habits without much fuss soon enough.
Pausing at a crossroad I nudge my mental passenger who hummed and glanced with my eyes down each road. ‘If you want books on Necromancy, the best place would probably be… Ah, Borgins and Berks.’ Her gaze settles on a familiar dingy shack nestled between two twisted spires, control returning to me once more I went up and entered into the place as the memories of the year prior flooded back to me.
Ah, this place. The stacks of ominous objects, eyes and hands that stared and twisted through the shelves as if alive. Dripping liquid ash that trailed from the ceiling and around a stack of haphazardly layered tomes, worn beyond their years with dog ears and faded covers. Small candles drifted from wall to wall as a crooked counter nestled itself in the corner, a silver bell lying in its centre with an ominous binding of wiggling spider-legs wrapped around it.
Heaving a sigh and watching as the dust lingering in the air brushes away and the faint hackling of choking echoes from the back of the surprisingly expansive store.
‘Lovely place.’ Tamelyn murmured distastefully. ‘Some things never change… the third cabinet on the left side should have the illegal books, tad pricy though.’
‘Not like I’m lacking in funds.’ I conclude nervously as I make my way into the store proper, slipping past a large cabinet lying on its side by the fireplace on the back-most wall as I settled before the cabinet in question. It held a series of misty jars that obscured their contents from view, a severed hand with a mouth plastered into the centre eating a tarantula, an hourglass of bone that held blood floating upwards and finally three leather bound tomes adorned with silver. Silver, the metal of sanctuary and spiritual protection. A basic defensive measure against academic accidents of the spiritual variety.
Creaking open the cabinet I carefully reach inside and pluck the tomes from the shelves, the hand leaping out and past my head as it clambered through the many store shelves and away from me. Leaving me frozen with my hand laid atop the books. Gathering my nerves again from the sudden scare I plucked them one at a time and turned them to face me in proper. Two of their contents holding titles with the third unintelligible beyond the bloody fingerprints spelling out the lasts title in strange twisted runes that steadily started to glow a deep black.
‘Put the Egyptian sacrificial tome back before it eats your hand.’ Tamelyn curtly warned me just as I tossed the offending tome back into the cabinet where it laughed in a deep guttural tone at me. Hissing out a few dozen curses I ignore her faint laughter as I look at the two readable tomes. ‘Rickten’s Guide to the Neverworld’ and ‘Beyond the Veil’s Claw’, both very informative titles. Not.
The Veil, I recognise barely as a reference to some magical artefact the ministry confiscated decades ago. And as a general catch all symbolic term for the afterlife, synonymous with the ‘neverworld’ another common term. Claw refers to either that of a raven’s or an anthropomorphic reference to Death itself. If Death has a form that is. I can tell they’re probably on Necromancy but to what extent they’ll be useful I don’t know.
“Both it is.” I grumble irritably as I step away from that blasted cabinet and the sickening things it holds and towards the vacant counter. Tapping the bell I watch as the legs patter a small tune akin to the bells of a church, solemn and dull, before a grouchy grey haired man in a dull brown robe clambers out from behind the back.
Peering at me with crow-like eyes his teeth rattled as he spoke in an inhumanly gentle yet sharp voice. “Buying yes. Place here.” Tapping the counter with a crooked finger I gently put the two tomes atop it. Running a hand along their brims a small red mist fades away from them, anti-theft charms from what Riddle taught me and considering the colour the very deadly kind at that, tapping a small drawer at the side it sprung open and out stretched a black four-fingered claw of a hand covered in stitches.
Nodding to himself the man at the counter muttered something before twisting his scarred neck up to face my illusory images head. Glassy grey eyes staring at me as he grinned a wide bloody grin that sent shivers to my very Soul. “For all. Fourty-nine. Fee in gold, yes gold! Gold!”
Dropping the appropriate number of Galleons onto the counter I sweep the books under my arm. His head bobs limply on his ever so frail neck, revealing a twisted bone-like collar wrapping around it, peaking out of his large robes just barely. Homonculus, I numbly realise as the soft symbols of the collar glow. That certainly explains his… mismatched features.
‘Rather impressive, if cheaply made.’ Concludes Riddle as the thing scooped the Galleons into the drawer which had its strange hand-thing close itself behind the moneys entrance.
Without another word I swiftly turned and forced my way out of that wretched place. Walking at a breakneck pace back to the Main Street where I had Riddle drop the Ward in an equally obscured spot as before.
Drained beyond belief I vowed. ‘I’m never doing that again.’
‘Really?’ Tamelyn, clearly amused by my horror at that entire experience, decided to pipe up. ‘I thought you wanted to figure out how to get rid of me, hm?’
‘I do!’ And I really do, it’s just that place was so… unnervingly repulsive. I wanted to bathe, to shower and scrub myself barer than I’ve done ever before. But I couldn’t, like it or not Riddle is there. In my mind, and as useful as she is she’s still a fragment of the Dark Lord.
Meaning I must get rid of her, somehow. It’s been a faint goal, resting at the back of my mind and one that both she and I knew was there. But she didn’t care, she had this strange twisted confidence to herself I could never hold, and I had no way to achieve it. Necromancy, the magic of the Soul and afterlife, is a way to getting rid of her. Or at least determine what she even is to begin with.
‘Oh, Harriet.’ She purred as a chilling glee washed down my spine. ‘You really have no idea what that path you’re on will require, do you?’
Then like a lightbulb turning off, she vanished. Silent as the wind, her usually potent presence gone. And I was left alone, alone and above all else scared.
Scared of the memory of a girl many would think dead.
-Omake 3-
Harriet: I have a plan to get rid of you!
Tamelyn: Oh really? Pray tell.
Harriet: It’s to go to a really sketchy shop and almost die thrice to various cursed items and scare you out of me!
Tamelyn: … you really are that desperate aren’t you.