Weak Chapter Eight
Well, after a long wait and a power struggle with fan fiction net, I'm back with another chapter of Weak! Please check it out, and leave a comment so that I know someone found it, ok?
Would you look at that? It’s a point of view switch! Yay! So, in honor of seeing what happens to be on young Roderick’s mind, I have a big old chapter for you. Isn’t that wonderful?
So, from this point on, the story is more like a sequel, but I didn’t much feel like starting a whole new one. Because of this, there is (ta da!) a new summary. So without further drama…
Summary: Over eleven years after the end of the Great War, Hermione’s son Roderick struggles to find his place at a very different Hogwarts. With Draco Malfoy as a Charms professor who seems to know a lot more about him than he does about himself, Snape as a Potions professor who hates him even though he’s never met him before, and the distrusting ghost of Harry Potter watching him carefully, his first year proves to be difficult. But when he realizes his father isn’t really Ron Weasley, and is perhaps in fact the Dark Lord, things take a turn in a very dark direction.
And since I’m thinking of this as a sequel, there’s a new name, though I’m not changing anything. It’s Lost. You’ll see why in this chapter.
Oh, I love how angsty this is ending up. We’ll stop back in with Hermione in a couple chapters, but for now we follow around Roderick at school. Yes, I’m so excited. Not much to say…
And about the dress that I mention on Hermione in the beginning, I just couldn’t get the image of her in a 50s swing dress out of my head when I was searching for a Halloween costume, so I found a place for it here. Check out the actual dress at ( http : //www . daddyos . com/ retro/ j03 . Html )
Disclaimer: Nope, I don’t own Harry Potter. In fact, if JK happened upon this fan fic and read it, she’d probably have me committed.
Chapter Eight: Names
“Mom,” I said hoarsely as my mother squeezed the living daylights out of me. “Get off, you’re scaring me.” She chuckled, with tears in her eyes as she let me go, wiping her face on her sleeve. She flattened my hair and smiled in a mix of pleasure and sadness. I couldn’t help but notice how much she stood out in the crowd, with her dark hair and Muggle 50s style swing dress. She didn’t wear wizarding robes anymore, and one who didn’t know her would have thought she was a Muggle, but I knew she was a more powerful witch than most. Of course she didn’t do much magic these days
“I’m sorry Rick, I’m just sad that you’re leaving. Don’t do anything rash,” she warned me, although she knew me well enough to know that she was wasting her time. I nodded. I knew the risks.
“Mom, I know! I also know not to challenge Professor Snape and to avoid Headmaster Malfoy. I already promised you that I would write every week, and I’m keeping the necklace where no one can see it.” She shushed me, placing her warm finger over my lips, but she got jostled by the crowd and removed it.
“Just stay safe, and be who you want to be. Don’t let yourself be manipulated, OK?” I nodded stiffly, riding out her ‘Be who you want to be’ lecture. She did this occasionally when she was feeling insecure. “Plus, do not break cover. You could be recognized, but stick to your story anyway.” I rolled my eyes, and then trilled our story in a high-pitched voice.
“My name is Roderick Matthews and I’m a half-blood from America. My mother is Jane Matthews, Muggleborn, and my father was Michael Matthews, who was one of the many who died during the war and a pureblood. I’ve been living in New York City, but came to Hogwarts because my mother wanted me to get a worthy education of Dark Magic.” She nodded, self-consciously smoothing down her skirt. “Relax, Mom, I know.” But I didn’t know. She kept so many secrets from me that it wasn’t even funny. Such as why on earth did she have Salazar Slytherin’s locket if she were a Gryffindor Muggleborn? And why was black my natural hair color, if neither my mother nor my father, Ron Weasley, had such a trait? Though I never asked. “The train is about to leave.”
“Of course, dear. I love you, Roderick. Go blow them away,” she said softly, giving me a kiss on the forehead. Then she patted the small lump under my sweater where the locket rested.
“I love you, too. Good-bye, Mom.” She smiled as I gave her a brief hug and walked away, rolling my trunk behind me. I’d never been without Mom or her friends before, so I relished in the feeling of independence. Kids of all ages were saying good-bye to their parents or greeting their friends all around me, as I burned with petty jealousy for a moment, before shrugging it off. I walked through the train slowly, peeking into each compartment for an empty one. I didn’t want to be crushed in a room with strangers, who would most likely ask probing questions and talk about moronic subjects. I wanted solitude, or at least adult company. Only Mom and Blaise seemed to understand I appreciated actual intelligent discussion. There was one on the end that looked empty, but once I had fully entered it I saw there was a man reading the Daily Prophet, his shoulder-length blond hair sweeping across his face.
“Excuse me, sir, but may I sit here?” I asked politely, inserting the charm that I had mastered in elementary school. He looked up, startled and nodded, as he looked me over, as if trying to place me. I ignored his inspection and sat down across from him, pulling my cat’s cage off my trunk. Cooing softly, I pulled my black cat Radley out of it, laying the majestic pet out across my lap. The man tilted his head as if remembering something while I leaned over to take my mom’s battered old copy of Hogwarts: A History out of my book bag, stroking Radley’s soft fur. The man’s eyes widened. I resisted the urge to ask what he found so fascinating.
“That’s a beautiful cat,” he finally said, and I looked over the top of my book at him, my face blank. Just for the sake of experimentation, I tried to show my power in my eyes the way my mom’s friend Harry had done in the pictures and intimidate this stranger. Predictably, he gulped. I smirked the way my mother had always told me not to.
“His name is Radley,” I said quietly, pointing at the cat’s red collar. “My mother suggested it, an irony from the novel To Kill A Mockingbird.” Pleading to whoever could be listening that he’d read the book, I looked back down to the feline. He licked my palm as the man said,
“The Muggle classic?” I nodded, secretly smiling. About time, maybe he’d treat me as an equal?
“My mother works in a bookstore, I grew up on everything from the Wizard of Oz to Call of the Wild.” He nodded, looking curious.
“Is your mother a Muggle, then?” I looked back up, instantly regretting what I had said. I chose my words carefully, before responding slowly,
“No, neither of my parents were, sir. But my mom has a habit of reading everything in sight.” He ‘hmmed’ thoughtfully, closing his paper all of the way. I did the same with my book, careful to shield the stamp reading ‘Property of Hermione Granger’ inside the cover. “She passed it onto me.” He smiled lightly, turning to look out the window at the wet city we were now leaving.
“I knew someone like that once,” he said placidly. Extending his hand, he added, “Draco Malfoy, pleased to meet you.” I stiffened, eyeing it warily. My mother had only mentioned the Malfoys briefly in her warnings about how careful I must be at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy was dangerous to have on your bedside, but Draco? On second thought Aunty Luna had mentioned him briefly, but mom had quieted her down quickly. That must have been years ago.
He looked at me, one eyebrow lifted, as I hesitantly met his hand with my own, though I shook his firmly. ‘When you first meet people, you need to come across as strong,’ my mom had said, ‘If you don’t, they may try to use you, so never give them reason to believe so.’
“Roderick Matthews,” I said, my voice firm and clearly enunciated. He blinked, surprised, but didn’t miss a beat.
“I once knew someone named Roderick. Talented young boy,” he responded as he sat back in his seat. He added, as if trying to get me to admit something. “He and his mother both disappeared a few years ago, as if they’d just vanished.” We kept eye contact as I wondered what it was that he wanted me to say.
“What a pity,” I said coolly. He nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, but are you a teacher at Hogwarts?” He nodded again, gesturing to the briefcase next to him on his seat.
“I’m taking over Charms; my first year teaching actually.” He seemed much more comfortable now that he knew who I was, and I tucked that little bit of information away. “Maybe we should stick together, Roderick, since we’re both starting out.” He smiled warmly, and I wondered if I had met him before. He just seemed familiar. I smiled back.
“Maybe we should.” Professor Malfoy just looked at me for a minute, with an expression I’d only seen on my mother. Though in no way did I understand, I recognized it: pride. And suddenly it felt like something had clicked into place. I realized Professor Malfoy held answers. “So have you read The Phantom Tollbooth?” He started, as if he had forgotten I was there. “Sir?”
“I believe I did when I was younger,” he said softly, tucking a strand of his long blond hair being his ear. It reminded me of something, a little flicker of memory that pulled at the corner of my eye, as if suppressed beneath the years of listening to Luna’s spacey observations and Dennis’ picture snapping there had been a flicker of blond hair. It made me nervous. I smothered it, gulping slightly. “My father was appalled, tried to burn it because it wasn’t proper pureblood literature.” He sighed, tapping his finger on his leg. “It took me years to realize that there was no such thing.”
“As what, sir?” Would he be honest with me, or would he give me a polite frown and change the subject? ‘Maybe when you’re older, Rick,’ Ernie always said. But Professor Malfoy looked serious, his eyes showing his understanding. I wasn’t a carefree eleven-year-old. I was lost.
“As pureblood literature. I could get fired for saying this, but I once knew this amazing woman who I could talk to, relate to, but she was everything my father warned me against.” I sat up straighter. He was talking to me. Professor Malfoy glanced out the window, seeming suddenly distant, regretful. “When I was in school she was in my year and I tortured her, only to realize later that she was what I had been craving for years. I suddenly knew blood didn’t matter. But in this world people like her are persecuted.” My eyes widened. This was what Luna, Denis, Ernie, Terry, Blaise, Debbie, Susan, and Michelle had always been protecting me from. This, the politics in England. “And then she vanished.”
“Is she the woman you mentioned earlier, with the son who shared my name?” He nodded. “I’m sorry for being curious, sir, but in America there’s no such fixation on parentage.” He smiled weakly.
“You shouldn’t apologize for being curious, Roderick, especially because you will soon learn that not knowing is dangerous at Hogwarts. It would be best for you not to let it slip that your mother isn’t pureblooded, for here in England that could be the end of you. And come directly to me if anybody gives you trouble.” I nodded gratefully, though I couldn’t remember telling him I wasn’t a pureblood. But it didn’t matter.
We spent the rest of the trip arguing about Muggle literature, and I was pleased to find that he knew almost as much as Mom on the subject. I found myself smiling in his company, feeling as though something had clicked. I remembered him, with little flutters of something gold and my mother’s quiet smiles. It didn’t make sense, but he had been there at one point or another. It made me feel safe. The locket hummed against my skin, as if reminding me that it was there, but it was quite hard to forget.
I had asked my mother about the locket twice, the first when I was six and realized that she never took it off, and the second on the night of my eleventh birthday, a few months previous. Both occasions she had said the same thing, that it was a gift from my father and was very valuable. She also said we must keep it a family secret, because my father hadn’t wanted anyone to know about it. For this reason she had waited until after my small birthday party to pass it on to me, since none of her friends seemed to know about it either.
However, she had never given an explanation of its obvious magic. When I had first put it on I had been flooded with sudden confidence and a feeling of affection, and over time I had gotten used to it. But at the same time I knew there was something more sinister to it, though I couldn’t pinpoint a reason why. Perhaps it was because of the way I had sometimes found Mom glaring down at it, or other times stroking it like she often did to Radley. I hated not knowing the full story, but never badgered her. She had gone through a lot. They all had, in the war. But Mom had something darker, something more sinister.
But she wouldn’t tell me what!
Mother’s friends hadn’t wanted me to go to Hogwarts for this reason. Blaise and Luna had tried to keep me distracted while Ernie and Terry ganged up on her, but I had overheard a lot of it.
‘Hermione, he’s so much like you! Any observant teacher, more specifically Professor Snape, could see the resemblance!’ Ernie had argued, hovering over her, as Mother scowled, her jaw locked. Luna dealt the playing cards with a fake smile but I looked over her shoulder into the kitchen. Blaise cast a nervous glance through the doorway, before whispering it was my turn to bet.
‘But he looks nothing like me, no one would make the connection!’ She yelled back as Ernie and Terry shared a look, as if debating whether to hit her where it hurt. I fingered the edge of the Ace in my hand, wondering where this was heading. Terry looked resigned as he made his decision.
‘And strangely enough, he looks nothing like Ron either. But we won’t ask questions,’ he said in a nasally voice. My mother’s face contorted into a strangled look as she balled the locket in her fist, keeping its letter hidden. Terry regretted it and softened his tone, ‘Mione, it’s just a bad idea. Why would you want him to go there?’
‘Because he has to,’ she responded, her voice equally low. ‘His father wanted him to.’
‘Hermione, Gryffindor house doesn’t even exist anymore. You told us yourself that Lucius Malfoy had gotten rid of it.’ Ernie said. ‘You would have to use fake names, fake documents, fake addresses. He wouldn’t be safe.’ My mother nodded. ‘And we’ve kept him sheltered this long, but sending him to England would be eliminating all that effort. It’s a whole other world over there. Why would you want him there anyway? You could send him to Salem Academy!’ Mom bit her lip, and I could see the nineteen-year-old in her for a second, eyes lidded, hair tangled, no smile. But then her stern look came back, and I couldn’t see the weakness.
‘Because I don’t want my son to be ignorant.’ That had been her final say, and now here I was on the school train. But that wasn’t the hard part. I was dreading the Sorting. Mom’s friends had all said I’d end up in Ravenclaw, but Mom hadn’t said what she thought. Later on when we were alone, she sat down next to me on my bed and said softly, ‘Listen to me, Roderick, ignore what they say, all of it. It doesn’t matter what house you’re sorted into tomorrow, I’ll respect the hat’s decision no matter where you end up. Do you understand?’
Not really, but I had nodded obediently. That’s what she wanted to hear.
It was easier to understand why the Sorting was such a big deal as I waited in line for my name to be called. What made it harder was that everyone was looking at me! Well, not everyone, per say, but most of the staff was staring directly at me. Professor Malfoy occasionally sent me reassuring looks in between whispering to the older and striking headmaster, who was smirking knowingly at me. The deputy Headmaster, Professor Snape, who was calling names to be sorted from a long scroll, didn’t glance over once, but he was a rarity.
Megan Greengrass, a blond who had taken a liking to my American accent on the boat ride over, was fidgeting, cracking her knuckles. I scoffed, my hands clasped behind my back, and kept my eyes on the faded hat, steeling my face. I would not go into Hogwarts with a weak persona. I was afraid, nervous, and desperately wanted to owl Mom, but Merlin help me, no one would know. I had listened to my mother.
“Matthews, Roderick,” Professor Snape called, causing Headmaster Malfoy and the fat man sitting on his other side to snicker. At last Professor Snape looked up at me, his dark eyes obviously registering something as I kept my face blank and walked confidently to the stool, with my shoulders back. He dropped the hat on my head, and it was so large that it dropped completely over my head, leaving me in pitch black. Nobody laughed. I waited.
‘I never thought I’d see the day that I’d sort another Riddle,’ it said calmly, and I blinked. It seemed to whisper into my ear, and I knew that no one else could hear it.
Excuse me? I thought, wondering if it could hear me.
‘Yes I can hear you, Mr. Riddle. I can see everything inside your head, weren’t you listening to my song?’
Pardon, but my name is Matthews, Roderick Matthews. It chuckled sadly, as if I was a small child who could never understand.
‘I assure you that your name is not Matthews, nor is it Weasley, for that matter. Your name is Roderick Granger Riddle, dear boy.’ I gasped, glaring up at it. ‘It’s true. Now where to put you?’
Ron Weasley was my father; don’t tell me otherwise, I snarled into the brim, annoyed that a mere hat thought it could tell me who I was!
‘Believe whatever Ms. Granger tells you, Mr. Riddle, it is not my job to tell you otherwise. My job is to sort you, and it’s about time I did so.’ I glared into the inky black, but didn’t protest further. ‘I can see courage in you, boy, you have no shame in doing what you think is right. You would have made a wonderful Gryffindor, defending your mother is your first priority. But they tell me Godric’s house is dead now. I don’t understand these humans.’ I closed my eyes now, listening closely. It seemed everyone had answers. ‘But you are so much like your father. You want power, to know the answers they are keeping from you. You want to impress, to influence. Yes, you are so much like your father. I think I know where to put you. It’s written in your very blood after all.’
But who was my father, then? I asked quickly. It sighed as if it were human.
‘Some other time, Mr. Riddle.’ There was a pause, before it bellowed to the silent hall, “SLYTHERIN!”
The locket hummed contently as Professor Snape plucked the hat from my head, giving me an approving once over. I looked over to Professor Malfoy as I walked to the Slytherin table, sitting down next to Megan. He smiled weakly. I turned away, facing my plate. This wasn’t good.
A/N: Yes, I know it took me a while to update, but I still blame fan fiction.net. Make sure you all leave a comment so that I know someone found this chapter ok.
So how’d you all like Roderick? He’s way too mature for his age, I know, but I would think he would be, what with two names and sneaking around.
Teaser?
“I think I taught your parents, Mr. Matthews,” Professor Slughorn said, giving me a pleasant look. I struggled not to show my sudden discomfort and surprise.
And here’s a second one, since the next one is fairly large as well.
“He’s got to be bloody powerful, magic at two. I was there, I saw it!” Snape rolled his eyes as Malfoy moaned and put his head in his hands.
“I know, I know, with the snitch and the ash. Merlin above, you sound like he is your son!” Snape grumbled, nursing his drink.
Dun dun dun. Poor Roderick has no idea what he’s walking into, does he? Ah well, he’ll figure it all out eventually. And after that chapter and the one after it we’ll go back to Hermione for a small chapter, before going back to Roderick for an action-packed chapter. And then back to Hermione for more drama. It’s all good, right? Seriously, it’s all BAM action from now on. Tee hee, this is my favorite fan fic.
Review!
Final Word Count: 3717
Would you look at that? It’s a point of view switch! Yay! So, in honor of seeing what happens to be on young Roderick’s mind, I have a big old chapter for you. Isn’t that wonderful?
So, from this point on, the story is more like a sequel, but I didn’t much feel like starting a whole new one. Because of this, there is (ta da!) a new summary. So without further drama…
Summary: Over eleven years after the end of the Great War, Hermione’s son Roderick struggles to find his place at a very different Hogwarts. With Draco Malfoy as a Charms professor who seems to know a lot more about him than he does about himself, Snape as a Potions professor who hates him even though he’s never met him before, and the distrusting ghost of Harry Potter watching him carefully, his first year proves to be difficult. But when he realizes his father isn’t really Ron Weasley, and is perhaps in fact the Dark Lord, things take a turn in a very dark direction.
And since I’m thinking of this as a sequel, there’s a new name, though I’m not changing anything. It’s Lost. You’ll see why in this chapter.
Oh, I love how angsty this is ending up. We’ll stop back in with Hermione in a couple chapters, but for now we follow around Roderick at school. Yes, I’m so excited. Not much to say…
And about the dress that I mention on Hermione in the beginning, I just couldn’t get the image of her in a 50s swing dress out of my head when I was searching for a Halloween costume, so I found a place for it here. Check out the actual dress at ( http : //www . daddyos . com/ retro/ j03 . Html )
Disclaimer: Nope, I don’t own Harry Potter. In fact, if JK happened upon this fan fic and read it, she’d probably have me committed.
Chapter Eight: Names
“Mom,” I said hoarsely as my mother squeezed the living daylights out of me. “Get off, you’re scaring me.” She chuckled, with tears in her eyes as she let me go, wiping her face on her sleeve. She flattened my hair and smiled in a mix of pleasure and sadness. I couldn’t help but notice how much she stood out in the crowd, with her dark hair and Muggle 50s style swing dress. She didn’t wear wizarding robes anymore, and one who didn’t know her would have thought she was a Muggle, but I knew she was a more powerful witch than most. Of course she didn’t do much magic these days
“I’m sorry Rick, I’m just sad that you’re leaving. Don’t do anything rash,” she warned me, although she knew me well enough to know that she was wasting her time. I nodded. I knew the risks.
“Mom, I know! I also know not to challenge Professor Snape and to avoid Headmaster Malfoy. I already promised you that I would write every week, and I’m keeping the necklace where no one can see it.” She shushed me, placing her warm finger over my lips, but she got jostled by the crowd and removed it.
“Just stay safe, and be who you want to be. Don’t let yourself be manipulated, OK?” I nodded stiffly, riding out her ‘Be who you want to be’ lecture. She did this occasionally when she was feeling insecure. “Plus, do not break cover. You could be recognized, but stick to your story anyway.” I rolled my eyes, and then trilled our story in a high-pitched voice.
“My name is Roderick Matthews and I’m a half-blood from America. My mother is Jane Matthews, Muggleborn, and my father was Michael Matthews, who was one of the many who died during the war and a pureblood. I’ve been living in New York City, but came to Hogwarts because my mother wanted me to get a worthy education of Dark Magic.” She nodded, self-consciously smoothing down her skirt. “Relax, Mom, I know.” But I didn’t know. She kept so many secrets from me that it wasn’t even funny. Such as why on earth did she have Salazar Slytherin’s locket if she were a Gryffindor Muggleborn? And why was black my natural hair color, if neither my mother nor my father, Ron Weasley, had such a trait? Though I never asked. “The train is about to leave.”
“Of course, dear. I love you, Roderick. Go blow them away,” she said softly, giving me a kiss on the forehead. Then she patted the small lump under my sweater where the locket rested.
“I love you, too. Good-bye, Mom.” She smiled as I gave her a brief hug and walked away, rolling my trunk behind me. I’d never been without Mom or her friends before, so I relished in the feeling of independence. Kids of all ages were saying good-bye to their parents or greeting their friends all around me, as I burned with petty jealousy for a moment, before shrugging it off. I walked through the train slowly, peeking into each compartment for an empty one. I didn’t want to be crushed in a room with strangers, who would most likely ask probing questions and talk about moronic subjects. I wanted solitude, or at least adult company. Only Mom and Blaise seemed to understand I appreciated actual intelligent discussion. There was one on the end that looked empty, but once I had fully entered it I saw there was a man reading the Daily Prophet, his shoulder-length blond hair sweeping across his face.
“Excuse me, sir, but may I sit here?” I asked politely, inserting the charm that I had mastered in elementary school. He looked up, startled and nodded, as he looked me over, as if trying to place me. I ignored his inspection and sat down across from him, pulling my cat’s cage off my trunk. Cooing softly, I pulled my black cat Radley out of it, laying the majestic pet out across my lap. The man tilted his head as if remembering something while I leaned over to take my mom’s battered old copy of Hogwarts: A History out of my book bag, stroking Radley’s soft fur. The man’s eyes widened. I resisted the urge to ask what he found so fascinating.
“That’s a beautiful cat,” he finally said, and I looked over the top of my book at him, my face blank. Just for the sake of experimentation, I tried to show my power in my eyes the way my mom’s friend Harry had done in the pictures and intimidate this stranger. Predictably, he gulped. I smirked the way my mother had always told me not to.
“His name is Radley,” I said quietly, pointing at the cat’s red collar. “My mother suggested it, an irony from the novel To Kill A Mockingbird.” Pleading to whoever could be listening that he’d read the book, I looked back down to the feline. He licked my palm as the man said,
“The Muggle classic?” I nodded, secretly smiling. About time, maybe he’d treat me as an equal?
“My mother works in a bookstore, I grew up on everything from the Wizard of Oz to Call of the Wild.” He nodded, looking curious.
“Is your mother a Muggle, then?” I looked back up, instantly regretting what I had said. I chose my words carefully, before responding slowly,
“No, neither of my parents were, sir. But my mom has a habit of reading everything in sight.” He ‘hmmed’ thoughtfully, closing his paper all of the way. I did the same with my book, careful to shield the stamp reading ‘Property of Hermione Granger’ inside the cover. “She passed it onto me.” He smiled lightly, turning to look out the window at the wet city we were now leaving.
“I knew someone like that once,” he said placidly. Extending his hand, he added, “Draco Malfoy, pleased to meet you.” I stiffened, eyeing it warily. My mother had only mentioned the Malfoys briefly in her warnings about how careful I must be at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy was dangerous to have on your bedside, but Draco? On second thought Aunty Luna had mentioned him briefly, but mom had quieted her down quickly. That must have been years ago.
He looked at me, one eyebrow lifted, as I hesitantly met his hand with my own, though I shook his firmly. ‘When you first meet people, you need to come across as strong,’ my mom had said, ‘If you don’t, they may try to use you, so never give them reason to believe so.’
“Roderick Matthews,” I said, my voice firm and clearly enunciated. He blinked, surprised, but didn’t miss a beat.
“I once knew someone named Roderick. Talented young boy,” he responded as he sat back in his seat. He added, as if trying to get me to admit something. “He and his mother both disappeared a few years ago, as if they’d just vanished.” We kept eye contact as I wondered what it was that he wanted me to say.
“What a pity,” I said coolly. He nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, but are you a teacher at Hogwarts?” He nodded again, gesturing to the briefcase next to him on his seat.
“I’m taking over Charms; my first year teaching actually.” He seemed much more comfortable now that he knew who I was, and I tucked that little bit of information away. “Maybe we should stick together, Roderick, since we’re both starting out.” He smiled warmly, and I wondered if I had met him before. He just seemed familiar. I smiled back.
“Maybe we should.” Professor Malfoy just looked at me for a minute, with an expression I’d only seen on my mother. Though in no way did I understand, I recognized it: pride. And suddenly it felt like something had clicked into place. I realized Professor Malfoy held answers. “So have you read The Phantom Tollbooth?” He started, as if he had forgotten I was there. “Sir?”
“I believe I did when I was younger,” he said softly, tucking a strand of his long blond hair being his ear. It reminded me of something, a little flicker of memory that pulled at the corner of my eye, as if suppressed beneath the years of listening to Luna’s spacey observations and Dennis’ picture snapping there had been a flicker of blond hair. It made me nervous. I smothered it, gulping slightly. “My father was appalled, tried to burn it because it wasn’t proper pureblood literature.” He sighed, tapping his finger on his leg. “It took me years to realize that there was no such thing.”
“As what, sir?” Would he be honest with me, or would he give me a polite frown and change the subject? ‘Maybe when you’re older, Rick,’ Ernie always said. But Professor Malfoy looked serious, his eyes showing his understanding. I wasn’t a carefree eleven-year-old. I was lost.
“As pureblood literature. I could get fired for saying this, but I once knew this amazing woman who I could talk to, relate to, but she was everything my father warned me against.” I sat up straighter. He was talking to me. Professor Malfoy glanced out the window, seeming suddenly distant, regretful. “When I was in school she was in my year and I tortured her, only to realize later that she was what I had been craving for years. I suddenly knew blood didn’t matter. But in this world people like her are persecuted.” My eyes widened. This was what Luna, Denis, Ernie, Terry, Blaise, Debbie, Susan, and Michelle had always been protecting me from. This, the politics in England. “And then she vanished.”
“Is she the woman you mentioned earlier, with the son who shared my name?” He nodded. “I’m sorry for being curious, sir, but in America there’s no such fixation on parentage.” He smiled weakly.
“You shouldn’t apologize for being curious, Roderick, especially because you will soon learn that not knowing is dangerous at Hogwarts. It would be best for you not to let it slip that your mother isn’t pureblooded, for here in England that could be the end of you. And come directly to me if anybody gives you trouble.” I nodded gratefully, though I couldn’t remember telling him I wasn’t a pureblood. But it didn’t matter.
We spent the rest of the trip arguing about Muggle literature, and I was pleased to find that he knew almost as much as Mom on the subject. I found myself smiling in his company, feeling as though something had clicked. I remembered him, with little flutters of something gold and my mother’s quiet smiles. It didn’t make sense, but he had been there at one point or another. It made me feel safe. The locket hummed against my skin, as if reminding me that it was there, but it was quite hard to forget.
I had asked my mother about the locket twice, the first when I was six and realized that she never took it off, and the second on the night of my eleventh birthday, a few months previous. Both occasions she had said the same thing, that it was a gift from my father and was very valuable. She also said we must keep it a family secret, because my father hadn’t wanted anyone to know about it. For this reason she had waited until after my small birthday party to pass it on to me, since none of her friends seemed to know about it either.
However, she had never given an explanation of its obvious magic. When I had first put it on I had been flooded with sudden confidence and a feeling of affection, and over time I had gotten used to it. But at the same time I knew there was something more sinister to it, though I couldn’t pinpoint a reason why. Perhaps it was because of the way I had sometimes found Mom glaring down at it, or other times stroking it like she often did to Radley. I hated not knowing the full story, but never badgered her. She had gone through a lot. They all had, in the war. But Mom had something darker, something more sinister.
But she wouldn’t tell me what!
Mother’s friends hadn’t wanted me to go to Hogwarts for this reason. Blaise and Luna had tried to keep me distracted while Ernie and Terry ganged up on her, but I had overheard a lot of it.
‘Hermione, he’s so much like you! Any observant teacher, more specifically Professor Snape, could see the resemblance!’ Ernie had argued, hovering over her, as Mother scowled, her jaw locked. Luna dealt the playing cards with a fake smile but I looked over her shoulder into the kitchen. Blaise cast a nervous glance through the doorway, before whispering it was my turn to bet.
‘But he looks nothing like me, no one would make the connection!’ She yelled back as Ernie and Terry shared a look, as if debating whether to hit her where it hurt. I fingered the edge of the Ace in my hand, wondering where this was heading. Terry looked resigned as he made his decision.
‘And strangely enough, he looks nothing like Ron either. But we won’t ask questions,’ he said in a nasally voice. My mother’s face contorted into a strangled look as she balled the locket in her fist, keeping its letter hidden. Terry regretted it and softened his tone, ‘Mione, it’s just a bad idea. Why would you want him to go there?’
‘Because he has to,’ she responded, her voice equally low. ‘His father wanted him to.’
‘Hermione, Gryffindor house doesn’t even exist anymore. You told us yourself that Lucius Malfoy had gotten rid of it.’ Ernie said. ‘You would have to use fake names, fake documents, fake addresses. He wouldn’t be safe.’ My mother nodded. ‘And we’ve kept him sheltered this long, but sending him to England would be eliminating all that effort. It’s a whole other world over there. Why would you want him there anyway? You could send him to Salem Academy!’ Mom bit her lip, and I could see the nineteen-year-old in her for a second, eyes lidded, hair tangled, no smile. But then her stern look came back, and I couldn’t see the weakness.
‘Because I don’t want my son to be ignorant.’ That had been her final say, and now here I was on the school train. But that wasn’t the hard part. I was dreading the Sorting. Mom’s friends had all said I’d end up in Ravenclaw, but Mom hadn’t said what she thought. Later on when we were alone, she sat down next to me on my bed and said softly, ‘Listen to me, Roderick, ignore what they say, all of it. It doesn’t matter what house you’re sorted into tomorrow, I’ll respect the hat’s decision no matter where you end up. Do you understand?’
Not really, but I had nodded obediently. That’s what she wanted to hear.
It was easier to understand why the Sorting was such a big deal as I waited in line for my name to be called. What made it harder was that everyone was looking at me! Well, not everyone, per say, but most of the staff was staring directly at me. Professor Malfoy occasionally sent me reassuring looks in between whispering to the older and striking headmaster, who was smirking knowingly at me. The deputy Headmaster, Professor Snape, who was calling names to be sorted from a long scroll, didn’t glance over once, but he was a rarity.
Megan Greengrass, a blond who had taken a liking to my American accent on the boat ride over, was fidgeting, cracking her knuckles. I scoffed, my hands clasped behind my back, and kept my eyes on the faded hat, steeling my face. I would not go into Hogwarts with a weak persona. I was afraid, nervous, and desperately wanted to owl Mom, but Merlin help me, no one would know. I had listened to my mother.
“Matthews, Roderick,” Professor Snape called, causing Headmaster Malfoy and the fat man sitting on his other side to snicker. At last Professor Snape looked up at me, his dark eyes obviously registering something as I kept my face blank and walked confidently to the stool, with my shoulders back. He dropped the hat on my head, and it was so large that it dropped completely over my head, leaving me in pitch black. Nobody laughed. I waited.
‘I never thought I’d see the day that I’d sort another Riddle,’ it said calmly, and I blinked. It seemed to whisper into my ear, and I knew that no one else could hear it.
Excuse me? I thought, wondering if it could hear me.
‘Yes I can hear you, Mr. Riddle. I can see everything inside your head, weren’t you listening to my song?’
Pardon, but my name is Matthews, Roderick Matthews. It chuckled sadly, as if I was a small child who could never understand.
‘I assure you that your name is not Matthews, nor is it Weasley, for that matter. Your name is Roderick Granger Riddle, dear boy.’ I gasped, glaring up at it. ‘It’s true. Now where to put you?’
Ron Weasley was my father; don’t tell me otherwise, I snarled into the brim, annoyed that a mere hat thought it could tell me who I was!
‘Believe whatever Ms. Granger tells you, Mr. Riddle, it is not my job to tell you otherwise. My job is to sort you, and it’s about time I did so.’ I glared into the inky black, but didn’t protest further. ‘I can see courage in you, boy, you have no shame in doing what you think is right. You would have made a wonderful Gryffindor, defending your mother is your first priority. But they tell me Godric’s house is dead now. I don’t understand these humans.’ I closed my eyes now, listening closely. It seemed everyone had answers. ‘But you are so much like your father. You want power, to know the answers they are keeping from you. You want to impress, to influence. Yes, you are so much like your father. I think I know where to put you. It’s written in your very blood after all.’
But who was my father, then? I asked quickly. It sighed as if it were human.
‘Some other time, Mr. Riddle.’ There was a pause, before it bellowed to the silent hall, “SLYTHERIN!”
The locket hummed contently as Professor Snape plucked the hat from my head, giving me an approving once over. I looked over to Professor Malfoy as I walked to the Slytherin table, sitting down next to Megan. He smiled weakly. I turned away, facing my plate. This wasn’t good.
A/N: Yes, I know it took me a while to update, but I still blame fan fiction.net. Make sure you all leave a comment so that I know someone found this chapter ok.
So how’d you all like Roderick? He’s way too mature for his age, I know, but I would think he would be, what with two names and sneaking around.
Teaser?
“I think I taught your parents, Mr. Matthews,” Professor Slughorn said, giving me a pleasant look. I struggled not to show my sudden discomfort and surprise.
And here’s a second one, since the next one is fairly large as well.
“He’s got to be bloody powerful, magic at two. I was there, I saw it!” Snape rolled his eyes as Malfoy moaned and put his head in his hands.
“I know, I know, with the snitch and the ash. Merlin above, you sound like he is your son!” Snape grumbled, nursing his drink.
Dun dun dun. Poor Roderick has no idea what he’s walking into, does he? Ah well, he’ll figure it all out eventually. And after that chapter and the one after it we’ll go back to Hermione for a small chapter, before going back to Roderick for an action-packed chapter. And then back to Hermione for more drama. It’s all good, right? Seriously, it’s all BAM action from now on. Tee hee, this is my favorite fan fic.
Review!
Final Word Count: 3717