The Arithmancer's Apprentice

Chapter Nine

Tom woke to see the early morning sunlight streaming through the south windows, and for a moment he thought he was in his own four-poster bed at Hogwarts, but once he had opened his eyes and blinked, the events of the previous day flooded back. After the enchanted sleep, everything seemed like a dream – or nightmare – in his memory, but he knew, simply from his presence in the richly upholstered bedroom, that it had all been true. From the clock tower over the stables, a ringing of bells chimed eight o’clock.

He sat up suddenly, running a hand through his sleep-tangled hair. What happened last night, when they sent me away? What did Lunchington say to them? He needed to find out what had transpired. With renewed determination he hauled himself out of the bed, guessing he must have been changed by the house-elves as he glanced down at his night-robes. The potion had acted so quickly, that he hadn’t had time to wait for his own things to come from the Dancing Warlock. Now, as he glanced round the room in the light of morning, he saw his robes of the previous evening laid out washed and cleaned on the table, although Garrick’s boots and coat were gone. All his other clothing was back as well – including his own boots and the Hogwarts robes he had left behind when he changed into Hagrid, each garment cleaned and mended, all of them as good as new.

At the edge of the table, where his clothes were laid out were two other objects: a silver bell, and a rolled up piece of parchment, which he promptly unraveled. Inside was a note in small, flowing script:

You should find everything you need in this room, but I would advise you to dress with haste. There is much to discuss before you leave. When you are ready, ring the silver bell on this table, and a house-elf will escort you to breakfast.

Mountwarlock

Tom set the parchment down thoughtfully. There is much to discuss… There was indeed a great deal to discuss, he knew that only too well, since the final events of the previous night were still a mystery to him. He did not even know for sure if the Ministry wizards were still in the house; after all, if the earl had offered Tom a room, surely he would have been as polite to the Minister of Magic himself. Would Tom face Harker and Morton at breakfast? Or Hugo and Jasper? Would Newt Scamander question him further after what Lunchington had said? There was nothing in the note that hinted at who would be there at the breakfast table.

Pushing his questions to the back of his mind – they would be answered soon enough, he supposed – he washed and dressed as quickly as he could. He barely glanced at his reflection in the mirror, deciding that at least he appeared a good sight better than the bedraggled creature he had looked like the day before.

A few minutes later, he plucked the sliver bell from the table, and rang it once; in a matter of seconds, a house-elf appeared in front of him with a small pop, and bowed quickly.

"Are you wanting to be taken to breakfast now?" the house-elf asked.

"Yes, please," Tom answered, and the house-elf bowed again, and led him out the door.

They passed again through the series of chambers Tom had seen the night before. Now they were filled with light from the windows on each side. A few minutes later he climbed a steep carpeted staircase that led him out into a garden.

It was as if the previous day had not happened. A bright green lawn lay spread out before him, bounded to the west by a low hedge of clipped yew, beyond which the terrace led down to the lake. On the other side steps led down to an ornamental canal, rimmed with stone. Beds of roses were scattered in clumps by the house. Below a spreading cedar tree, about halfway across the grass, a small table was laid out.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief when he saw only three figures present at the white tablecloth: Cleopatra, her father, and an unknown lady looked up at him as he crossed the grass, and indicated for him to sit down. Cleopatra greeted him with a small smile.

"I trust you slept well?" the earl asked wryly.

"Yes," Tom answered as he joined them. "The Sleeping Draught was quite effective."

The earl simply nodded. "My wife has been quite eager to meet you. Melanthia, this is Tom Riddle." The lady turned toward him, and Tom recognised her as Lady Mountwarlock from his glimpse in the library the day before. He realised the breakfast was a small family gathering, and it made him slightly uncomfortable.

"I’ve heard quite a lot about you," she said, in a melodious voice with just a trace of a foreign accent. "Did you really do all those things?" He did not know quite what to say.

Still, he had far too many questions to continue long with idle talk. "What else happened last night?" he asked – rather forwardly, he knew – but he had to know the answer. "And is Rubeus Hagrid all right? Will there be trouble with the story we prepared? And what did Harvey Lunchington say?" He realised he was close to babbling, and forced himself to slow down. Cleopatra watched him with growing amusement.

Lord Mountwarlock answered him. "First, I assure you your friend is quite safe. As for the rest of your questions … you’re not in any further trouble, you’ll be pleased to know. Quite the opposite, indeed. To make our story more persuasive, you had to be portrayed as the hero – in spite of the slightly awkward fact that you brought the disruption about in the first place," the earl went on, with gentle irony. "Not, of course, that you quite intended it. In fact there’s even some talk at the moment of giving you the Order of Merlin – not that I think it will come to that!" Tom felt himself flush a little, and wondered if Lord Mountwarlock was going to reprimand him in some way, now that the problem with the Ministry appeared to be over.

"However," Lord Mountwarlock continued, "you most certainly already know first-hand what really happened yesterday – and everything that’s supposed to have happened you can read about in the Daily Prophet. Lunchington explains our cover story far more effectively than I ever could."

Cleopatra grinned at him, and unfolded the paper in front of her. "‘It is likely that the wizards Mr. Scamander saw in the Lotus House may in fact have been in disguise,’" she read aloud. "‘Certain young students from Durmstrang Institute are known to be staying at Mountwarlock Park, and took part in games of Polyjuice Poker on that very afternoon, an extravagant and potentially dangerous pastime which (while undoubtedly continental in origin) is now commonly played in the most venerable of wizarding families even in the British Isles.’" She giggled. "Won’t Cousin Jasper be surprised – he’s very nearly been accused!"

Tom managed half a smile; Cleopatra was evidently thrilled with her own contribution to the story. The earl couldn’t quite conceal his amusement behind the faint scowl of disapproval. "Perhaps this will encourage Jasper to think twice about the possible repercussions of his game," he observed, and Cleopatra shook her head. She set down the paper next to Tom, presumably for him to read, but at that moment, the earl cleared his throat.

"I have spoken to my guests," he said, "Lucius and Nicholas, and old Maximus as well – he was particularly amused by the entire story. I have also explained your presence to Mundungus at the Black Unicorn. Now, are you quite certain there is no one else who needs to be informed of the matter?"

Tom thought for a second, running his mind through the previous day. He had looked so disheveled at the Black Unicorn, with cuts and bruises and borrowed robes, that he doubted if anyone would see the resemblance when they saw his picture, any more than Scamander had. There was the Dowager Countess, whom he’d spoken to in the golden library – but he had already mentioned his meeting with her, and also supposed that, as family, she would be told about everything. But other than the guests in the house, and Mundungus, there was only…

"There was the Muggle who saved me," Tom said at last. "Not that I told him very much."

"Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten your rescuer – being a Muggle he’s not much threat to your alibi – but that also reminds me, what became of that book you’d brought with you from the house? I don’t believe I ever inquired what sort of book it was; there were, obviously, more important matters to think of."

Tom had forgotten the book entirely. With a sinking feeling he abruptly remembered just how valuable he had thought it – so valuable, indeed, that he had feared to let it lie by the broken panes of the Great Conservatory. In fact, he was no longer sure where it was. It was in the pocket of his robes, wasn’t it? But it hadn’t been there a moment ago, when he’d dressed – and certainly it wasn’t there now. Could it have been lost like his wand in the garden? Had it even slipped into the snow? He had changed his robes at the Black Unicorn, though, so it might easily be there…

With a start, he remembered the Muggle professor telling him about a curious book – a manuscript book that he’d found in his room and had a "professional interest" in. The professor was a philologist – who surely knew many lost languages. It suddenly dawned on Tom that this was doubtless the very same book. He’d even given his waterlogged cloak to the Muggle to carry into the house. Might it have fallen on the floor, and been put on a shelf by Mundungus, or Martha?

"Well," Tom began, swallowing nervously, "It was a small, red leather-bound book, with a golden ring engraved on the cover, in a very strange script I’d not seen before – and I knew it had to be strongly enchanted – it barely got wet when I fell through into the Great Conservatory. It was hand-written – in very small writing – in some sort of alphabet I’d never seen. But the Muggle professor, I think, has it now – he mentioned in his last words to me that he’d found a strange book in an ancient script he would have great interest in reading."

Lord Mountwarlock frowned, perplexed. "That’s odd. Was it written in more than one hand?"

Tom thought carefully. "Yes. Most of it was small, and clear, but the very first bit was in a different hand: larger, and a good deal more untidy."

"That’s very strange indeed. Of course, the book was strongly enchanted; it was something my brother brought back from his search. I suspect you were only able to bring it out because you were wearing the ring."

Tom nodded his head in agreement.

"But what intrigues me is this: the Muggle was interested in reading the book? That I cannot explain at all. No one – as far as I know – could ever decipher a word of it. Even Zeuxes could never do that."

Tom and Cleopatra exchanged glances. "So the language – whatever it was – is still a mystery?" he asked.

"Precisely – and it’s not that the words themselves are enchanted in any way. It’s just that the language is unknown. And no translation spell will work. I do believe I will make a point of inviting this Muggle professor to lunch. I think I should very much like to speak with him. And if he can actually make sense of it… hmm, perhaps he even deserves to keep it. I wonder if he’d do a translation."

Lord Mountwarlock sat back in his chair, and Tom was extremely grateful that he didn’t seem to be angry over the incident at all. In fact, the earl seemed almost relaxed.

There was a silence for a moment; Tom sipped some tea the countess offered him, and murmured thanks when she excused herself, to see to the guests in the breakfast room. He drank whole the glass of fruit juice in front of him – judging by the astonishing taste the fruit might have been from the gorgon’s garden – but he had little appetite yet. His mind drifted from the talk at the table and his thoughts turned back to Rubeus Hagrid – he didn’t know where the Gryffindor was, or what condition he was in. At length he asked quietly, "How exactly is Rubeus, now?"

The earl steepled his fingers in front of him. "As I said, your friend Rubeus Hagrid is perfectly safe – and almost completely recovered. At the moment, I’m sure he is still fast asleep, although he doesn’t appear to have any side effects from his … transformation, except perhaps a mild memory loss. Judging by my family’s records, that is not unusual with a gorgon’s victims. They simply do not want to remember: not just the moment of transformation, but several hours to either side will probably remain confused.

"There isn’t very much left of the truth, now, of course, though I fear I’ve acquired a deep aversion to casting truth before Ministry officials – it doesn’t agree with them, I’ve found. But if your friend doesn’t remember, he will presumably have to be told. Lying to the Ministry is one thing, but… precisely how much do you plan to tell him?"

Tom hesitated. This was not a question he wished to answer – not just yet, at any rate. "I don’t want to talk about the ring." If it came out I tried to take it, I could easily be expelled. Not even Professor Gryme could protect me. "But… he might remember Persephone. He’s not the sort that would go round telling everyone – especially as we’re in your debt – but ... there are things he just won’t want to remember."

"The gorgon. Quite. Very well, we’ll leave that to you. From what Metheglin said this morning, it will be some hours before he’s fully alert. However, that does bring up a question I have been pondering since last night: how did you two manage to save that boy?" He gave Tom a piercing look, and Tom wondered if the earl assumed that he must have instigated the rescue.

"Papa," Cleopatra said apprehensively, "It was all my choice. I stepped through the painting into the past, when Tom had finished his telephone call, so we could go back and save his friend. I knew that time was extremely important, and we had to save him as quickly as we could."

The earl frowned contemplatively. "I see. But how did you manage it? I know that none of the gorgon’s blood from my study was missing this morning…"

Cleopatra took a deep breath. "Because I didn’t need it. You don’t need it, if you can ask Erikleia yourself…"

Lord Mountwarlock placed his cup carefully back down in the saucer.

"So, you are saying you have been to the garden, and spoken with the gorgon before?"

"Yes, I have, Papa," Cleopatra admitted, "but I’ve never been in any real danger! She isn’t a monster – I swear it, Papa. And when we went there yesterday, to save Rubeus Hagrid, I only had to talk to her, to convince her to give her blood for him – and that might have made all the difference, you know. Because the sacrifice is what really mattered – that’s what was needed, you know, Papa."

"And how," interrupted the earl, "do you plan to tell your mother?" Cleopatra abruptly fell silent.

"It was a brilliant plan," Tom added. "And we were extremely careful. The gorgon even returned my wand, from when I’d lost it in the garden."

"Erikleia would never attack me at all!" Cleopatra stressed. "She even hides her face with a veil when we talk."

Lord Mountwarlock did not look pleased. "And you speak with her often?"

"Not… terribly often. We discuss history and things: sometimes only through the wall. Our ancestor spoke to her, when he enchanted the garden, you know."

"I do know, Cleopatra," the earl sighed. "And while I am disappointed that you’ve disobeyed me, I’m not sure I can do anything other than praise you for what you did. Circumstances may have been very different – and much worse – if you had not made that decision."

Cleopatra blushed with pleasure, but her face was still serious. "Papa, I am sorry…"

"I know you are. And I know your connexions to this place are extraordinary, and allow you to understand things here that perhaps even I cannot. You are not unlike your uncle in that. But I also know that you must learn to contain your curiosity – or in the end it could prove fatal for you – as it did for my late brother."

"Yes, Papa," she said, and the earl smiled briefly.

"And I think that bit of advice is useful to others, as well," he said, glancing over at Tom. "But Cleo, please be careful, or I’ll be tempted to think you’d be safer at school."

"You wouldn’t! You couldn’t!" Cleopatra’s horror was genuine.

The earl smiled. "Don’t worry. I determined long ago not to send you – you never quite know what will happen there. Besides, it isn’t as if there’s much choice. Durmstrang is out," he said with feeling. "Hogwarts too, I should think," he added, with a wary glance at Tom. "Beauxbatons is a possibility, but you might come back as vain as a peacock… I suppose there is always Alqazar, if you can learn Arabic by September."

"What would Mama have to say about that?" Cleopatra had visibly relaxed, and Tom knew the earl was not serious – although there was undoubtedly a gentle warning hidden beneath the pleasantry.

"I’d rather not know," the earl replied with a faint smile. After a moment, he turned to Tom.

"In any case, Dr. Gryme should be arriving soon, to collect you and your friend, and he will escort you back to the village so that you may leave as scheduled with the rest of your party."

"So… you’re letting me leave, just like that?" Tom asked, surprise in his voice.

"Yes. I can hardly punish you more than you have been, and the last thing I want is to keep you here longer than necessary," Lord Mountwarlock said dryly.

At that moment, Phantomsby entered, followed by Professor Gryme and a very confused-looking Hagrid.

"Good morning," Dr. Gryme said briskly; Tom thought he still looked distressed from the previous day’s events – and perhaps disappointed in his hopes for the ring. Hagrid was silent, and merely stared at the garden, dazed.

"Good morning, Abbacus," the earl replied. "It must be later than I thought. I trust all is well with the rest of the students?"

"Indeed. In fact, they are boarding the Hogwarts Express as we speak – I have only to take Mr. Riddle and Mr. Hagrid with me, and we shall be on our way back to the school."

"That is probably for the best." He rose from his seat, and offered his hand to the three of them, starting with Rubeus Hagrid. "I’m sorry your visit here was cut short. Perhaps there will be another time – when this business has all died down." Hagrid murmured bemused thanks.

Lord Mountwarlock looked at Tom thoughtfully. "I’m not quite sure what to say about you," he said. "Oh, I nearly forgot. Maximus had a present for you." With a wave of his wand he Summoned a book, and handed it to Tom with a slightly amused smile.

Cleopatra rose to her feet. "Uncle Max’s little present gave me an idea, too," she said. "I thought of The Rules of Polyjuice Poker, but we don’t want to start that at Hogwarts as well! But here’s a novel I liked about Durmstrang. You asked quite a lot about it, you know."

"Thank you," Tom replied, a bit puzzled, and took the book she offered, concealing his brief flash of annoyance when he read the title: First Year at Grutchkoff’s. "I’m sure I’ll enjoy it," he said with a smile. "But thank you, yesterday, for believing me, and for being so helpful, too."

"Well, it was an adventure," Cleopatra said with a broad grin. "I’m not sure when you’ll be welcome back. Possibly when you’re the Minister of Magic. You might be able to pull it off. Papa seems to suspect you could be ambitious enough."

Tom turned to Lord Mountwarlock. "Well, you might be," the earl confirmed. "But your coach now seems to be waiting. I wish you well, Tom Riddle."

Professor Gryme silently led them under an arch to a carriage that floated a few inches above the ground in a stone paved courtyard, not very far from the family wing – a carriage open to the winter sun, but thankfully charmed against wind and cold. Hagrid gazed at the four winged horses stamping their feet in the snow. The coachman, oddly enough, was a dwarf, who sat on a cushion at the front of the perch, and flicked the reins when they all were seated. In a moment, the horses had spread their wings, and the carriage was floating over the roof. Somewhere to the left and behind, Tom glimpsed for a moment the chimneys where he’d been chased by the griffin and the glittering dome of the Great Conservatory. Then, the horses swooping just over the steeply pitched roofs, the coach turned east towards the village.

Steeple Warlock looked larger this morning, as Tom looked down on it from the air. As they went over the lane where he’d seen the bookshop (one that sold Muggle and magical books) he opened his other parting gift: Fantastic Beasts and How to Hunt Them – by Sir Maximus Drake, Baronet. Inside, scrawled in the hunter’s untidy hand, were the words, "to Tom Riddle, from Maximus Drake, hoping that it will prove USEFUL." Tom was not altogether amused by the big game hunter’s sense of humour. He glanced at Hagrid, whose attention was fixed on the huge winged horses, and was suddenly glad that the Gryffindor was still not completely alert.

In a minute, they were circling down to the station where the Hogwarts Express was waiting to take the students back to the school. Professor Gryme looked grave and pensive, and although Tom was burning with questions for his teacher – he was still curious about the ring, and why Gryme had chosen this time to retrieve it – he too remained silent, unwilling to speak too much in front of Rubeus Hagrid. He also wanted to know exactly what had happened the night before, and knew that Professor Gryme could explain it. He regretted more than ever that he hadn’t read the Daily Prophet at breakfast.

Most of the other Hogwarts students had already boarded the train. Olga Tempera was waiting, and shot them a relieved glance as they approached, smiling brightly. "Wonderful, everyone is here, then." She turned to Tom and Hagrid. "You two were extremely courageous yesterday, I understand."

Tom simply muttered a "thank you", but Hagrid looked puzzled. "We were?"

"He’s suffered a bit of a memory loss," Gryme explained, "though otherwise, he is in good condition. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve withdrawn the detention, and all those points from Gryffindor."

Tempera looked at Hagrid with sympathy and motioned him onto the train. Tom, too, prepared to board, but Professor Gryme leaned across, placing a hand on his shoulder, and spoke to him in a low undertone.

"Obviously, we cannot… discuss anything now, but we will. And I shall explain to you all that I can."

Tom met his professor’s grim stare and nodded. "Yes, Professor." He wondered just how much else Dr. Gryme had to explain; he’d seemed to admit everything to Lord Mountwarlock. But Gryme, Tom knew, was a master at keeping secrets, even when it appeared that he was revealing all…

Tom adjusted his bag on his shoulder and shoved his way back through the crowd till he reached the Slytherins’ compartments, and reserved a seat near the back of the train, but even here he was not left alone. Potter spotted him at once.

"Hey, Tom!" he said excitedly, pushing his hair from his eyes and turning around in his seat. "Have you seen the Daily Prophet this morning?"

"Not yet," Tom said truthfully. Potter grinned and shoved the paper into his hands. He took it eagerly.

"You were right! You did make the paper last night. The front page, too, and the editorial!" He looked exceedingly impressed. The other Slytherins in the compartment regarded Tom with renewed interest, some of them even with respect. The sole exception was Dominic Garrick, who appeared to be rather jealous. They all bombarded him with questions.

"What was it like, staying there?"

"It was fine," Tom answered tersely.

"Did you get to speak with the Lord Mountwarlock?"

Oh, I spoke with him, all right, Tom thought. More than I wanted to, in fact. "Well, we had breakfast together this morning."

"Did you get any reward?" This question, unsurprisingly, was from Potter.

"You must have been brave to go out in the snow like that!"

"How did you guess it all had gone wrong at the Ministry?"

Tom sighed. He didn’t feel like explaining – especially since he wasn’t quite sure what was said about him in the Daily Prophet.

"Look, it’s all settled now. I didn’t get any reward except a measly book or two, and nothing else happened. That’s it," he said, irritated, and stood up from his seat.

"Stuck up," Garrick muttered under his breath, but Tom ignored him. Clutching the paper, he retreated to an empty compartment, and there he sat down, alone.

At last, he was able to read the article; the title flashed up at him as he unfolded the paper. Lunchington’s name appeared beneath it, and there was a picture of Mountwarlock Park as it normally looked, without the snowdrifts and looming grey clouds. STRANGE HAPPENINGS AT STEEPLE WARLOCK The Ministry of Magic was in uproar yesterday over the sudden disruption that occurred in the magical immunity of the Earl of Mountwarlock, during the annual Hogwarts tour of his Leicestershire seat. This strange and unprecedented disruption, our sources say, was caused by the infiltration of the house by at least two unknown Dark intruders. The age-old charms and little-known enchantments that protect the house against attack went at once into operation. The weather immediately worsened drastically, making travel away from the village impossible. Furthermore, for several hours all other forms of communication, including Disapparition and the Floo network, were similarly incapacitated, while the protective enchantments sought out the intruders. Realising the nature of this Dark intrusion into his house, Lord Mountwarlock reacted immediately with swift and effective measures to ensure the well being of the Hogwarts children, evacuating them to the relative safety of the Dancing Warlock Inn in Steeple Warlock. He then began efforts to restore stability to the strange enchantments of his immunity.

Tom allowed a brief, sardonic smile to cross his face; so far, the account was entirely true. Of course, no one knew that the intruder had actually been Tom, and there was no mention of the ring, but it was, in all other respects, an honest report: except, perhaps, in the writer’s assumption that the mysterious intruder was Dark. The situation was further confounded by wild rumours, mostly started by Mr. Newton Scamander, Deputy Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Ministry of Magic, who was staying at Mountwarlock House as a guest. During the luncheon, when the troubles began, Lord Mountwarlock asked him to visit the conservatories to confer with his lordship’s custodian, Augustus Kray, and inspect the menagerie of animals, some of which were reported "restive." In one of the great conservatories, the legendary Lotus House, Mr. Scamander claims to have seen two young people struggling with, and apparently damaging, one of the more unusual creatures known to be kept at Mountwarlock Park: a nine-headed Laernian Hydra. (We are informed that the Hydra is now ten-headed.) Scamander assumed the two young people in the conservatories were Hogwarts students, and thus presumed that the rest of the Hogwarts party must also be walking about the place, unchaperoned and in danger. Yet instead of alerting Lord Mountwarlock and his legitimate Aurors, or even informing the local wizards when he arrived at the Black Unicorn Inn, he used Floo communications while they were still available, to send for 31 other Ministry officials to deal with the seemingly dangerous conditions. The bulk of these officials were actually parents of third year students, who promptly deserted their Ministry posts. On reflection, Mr. Scamander, who has published several books about magical creatures and is a widely recognized magizoologist, seems to have forgotten that any spell capable of blasting the head off a full-grown Laernian Hydra is well beyond the power of even the brightest of third year students, given the beast’s known resistance to charms. "An Incendiary Spell of the magnitude required to harm this beast is beyond the capability of very nearly everyone at Hogwarts," says Sir Maximus Drake, Baronet, Grand Veneur of the Magical Hunt, Order of Merlin, Second Class, and the only man alive to have hunted such a creature, "let alone the mere third year boys that Newt Scamander assumed that he saw. As a magizoologist, he should have remembered this – although if I recall correctly the Laernian Hydra is one of several beasts (the bicorn is the most obvious example) whose existence he ignored when compiling his book."

Scamander certainly won’t be pleased with this sort of publicity, Tom thought with satisfaction as he turned the page. Lunchington, while not accusing Scamander overtly of any ulterior motives, did successfully throw an unfavourable light upon the man, albeit making his actions appear more rash and foolish than devious and calculated. Of course, Tom admitted to himself, Scamander had seemed genuinely concerned for the children’s safety, and he supposed that would excuse much. After Mr. Scamander had sent for assistance, wild rumours began to spread in London, as friends of those Scamander had summoned began to fear for their colleagues’ safety. The Minister of Magic, Heriot Morton, informs us that he was under considerable pressure to dispatch Aurors for their protection, which would have left Diagon Alley exposed to attack by Grindelwald. A dangerous situation was only averted by the heroic actions of a third year Hogwarts student, Tom Marvolo Riddle, who, guessing the panic there would be in London, bravely went out into a ferocious storm to search for a Muggle "telephone box," an ingenious communication device the Muggles invented in recent decades, to inform the Ministry that the students were safe. Mr. Morton received the message, and thus alerted to the real situation, he Apparated to Steeple Warlock to learn the truth of the matter himself. Mr. Morton later confirmed that the rumours of students being attacked were unfounded: all had been accounted for, although two of the students had since become lost. Tom Riddle had been caught in the snowstorm after making his "telephone call," and another student, Rubeus Hagrid, is understood to have left the inn when he heard of Scamander’s mission, in a similar attempt to alert the Ministry’s wizards that all the students were safe after all. He too went missing in the blizzard. Both were later safely recovered by the efforts of Lord Mountwarlock’s daughter, Lady Cleopatra. No other children appear to have been missing.

"Courageous student risks his life to help others," he murmured to himself. This, too, was true. He had made the call, and he had risked himself – by going into Erikleia’s garden with Cleopatra to save Hagrid – although he was sure that Harvey Lunchington had not been made aware of that. It is likely that the wizards Mr. Scamander saw in the Lotus House may in fact have been in disguise. Certain young students from Durmstrang Institute are known to be staying at Mountwarlock Park, and took part in games of Polyjuice Poker on that very afternoon, an extravagant and potentially dangerous pastime which (while undoubtedly continental in origin) is now commonly played in the most venerable of wizarding families even in the British Isles.

Tom smiled at the memory of Cleopatra’s delight in her contribution to the article. However, it appears that a far more disturbing reason than a Durmstrang Institute practical joke was responsible for the fiasco. It stretches credulity that practical jokers could have disrupted such powerful enchantments. Reliable sources say that the ‘children’ that Mr. Scamander saw were almost certainly Dark Wizards and probably servants of Grindelwald, whose assault on the Ministry that morning was no doubt a timely distraction. Their entrance should normally have been detected (whatever charms concealed their nature) but in the midst of such a large and unfamiliar company, it is not surprising they were overlooked, especially if the attack on the house had been carefully prepared. Once in the house the Dark intruders took Polyjuice Potion, to disguise themselves as Hogwarts students. Although the intruders must have made use of powerful Concealment Charms, this did not prevent them from being detected and hunted by the protective enchantments, which, it appears, cut off their escape, and stirred up the menagerie to fight them. They were trapped inside the conservatories by highly potent protective charms. Upon their accidental rescue by Mr. Scamander, they would have followed him into the village. Presumably they made their escape when Disapparition was restored. The most likely object of the attack was the collection of powerful magical objects that lie within Lord Mountwarlock’s treasury, which is rumoured to include perhaps the only known example of a genuine Tarnhelm. A more disturbing possibility, however, is that the attack on the house was merely a diversion for a planned assault on the Ministry of Magic, because if Aurors and hit-wizards had been diverted there and trapped in the village, unable to Disapparate, wizarding Britain would have been vulnerable. If this is the case, there may well have been a traitor orchestrating the attack from within the Ministry of Magic itself. This would appear to reinforce Minister Morton’s position, that the ambitions of the Dark sorcerer Grindelwald are not a matter for the German wizarding authorities alone but for the International Confederation of Warlocks in particular, and legitimate wizarding authorities in general. Certainly the whole episode is expected to ease the passage of the Involuntary Appropriations and Emergency Taxation Bill – a great aim of Mr. Morton, which is currently being debated within the Council of Magic. In accordance with long-established custom, the Earl of Mountwarlock is believed to have already made a very considerable and generous voluntary donation from the exempt resources of his Leicestershire estate.

Tom folded the paper thoughtfully. Everything, it seemed, had fallen into place; loose ends had been neatly tied, and all was explained by the inventive story masquerading as truth in the Daily Prophet. Lord Mountwarlock’s cover story had been very well served by Harvey Lunchington’s report, and he understood at last why the earl had been willing to shift suspicion away from Jasper. The official story was, he mused, a highly plausible explanation, and actually quite close to the truth – except perhaps in the assumption that he and Dr. Gryme were Dark servants of Grindelwald – and in the current political climate, this story would readily be believed. He wondered how Lunchington had been squared – not that he would have been told everything. Had he simply been bought? Or was he at heart merely anxious to avoid divisions in the wizarding world?

"Tom?"

Hearing his name, Tom jerked his head up, and met Hagrid’s curious expression. The boy looked a bit pale, but otherwise normal, except for the uncharacteristic frown.

"Oh, yeh’ve seen the paper, too," he said, sitting down.

"Yes. It’s quite a story, isn’t it?"

"Yeah," Hagrid admitted, "but... Tom, I don’t remember any of that. But I remember other things, that don’t make sense… I mean – did it really happen?"

"Oh." Tom had not forgotten Hagrid’s memory loss, though he had assumed the boy would simply believe whatever was written in the Prophet. He hadn’t anticipated that Hagrid might doubt some of the story.

"I don’t remember goin’ to the Dancin’ Warlock at all, yeh know, an’ I don’t remember goin’ out…"

"Everyone else remembers you, though," Tom pointed out. "I think some of the Gryffindors said you were acting a little strange. Maybe nerving yourself up to go."

"Yeah… that’s what Maria said… but, what I remember, it doesn’ make sense…"

"Well," he asked cautiously, "what do you remember, Rubeus?"

"I remember… there was snow; that part is right. I remember trampin’ through the snow – and gettin’ lost. And I remember the conservatories, and wantin’ ter see Persephone again, when we went back ter the house… then I remember yeh too. Yeh fell through the roof of the conservatory."

Tom’s heart sank. He thought fast. "Uh – no, Rubeus, you must be mistaken about that. But – and this wasn’t in the Prophet – it wasn’t I alone who went up to the house when the storm stopped me from going back to the inn. When you got lost, you made your way to the house as well. Only you tried to get in to the conservatory."

"Yeah, I remember that. It was hot, like a garden in summer." Then he added, "Tom, why wasn’t that in the Daily Prophet?"

"Well, it’s too long a story for them to say everything, but I can tell you that’s where you went," Tom lied smoothly, inventing fast, and wondering if he’d have to try a Memory Charm. He didn’t want to – but if Hagrid remembered about Persephone, he might well have to – he must either use a charm, or tell him everything.

"Oh." The younger boy seemed faintly proud of himself for a moment, but then he frowned again. "After that, I jus’ remember bein’ really afraid."

"That was before you… fell unconscious. You were affected by the protective enchantments." Well, in a way, I suppose.

"The enchantments?"

"Yes," Tom said. "Some of them are designed specifically to keep people out of the more dangerous conservatories."

"The really interestin’ ones, I’ll bet."

"Yes, I’m afraid that’s just what you thought. But it wouldn’t let you in, Rubeus. In the end you tried once too often. I think this last charm affected you more – knocked you out completely – because all the magic was falling apart."

Hagrid nodded. "I guess that’s why I don’t remember anythin’. But yeah, it must have let me in. The next thing I recall… well, I remember somethin’ about a garden, but I think that was a dream, since I know it was snowin’ all over – it must have been the conservatory – but the next thing I remember is yeh again, an’ some girl."

"That was Cleopatra, Lord Mountwarlock’s daughter," Tom explained. "She helped me get you back to the house, and to their doctor."

"The earl’s daughter helped yeh?" Hagrid looked impressed. "So that’s who I saw, jus’ before we left, right?" Tom nodded.

"Oh. So that’s it? Then we came back?"

"Well, yes. That’s the end, I suppose."

"Blimey, Tom! So we’re both heroes?"

Tom shrugged. "Well, you risked your life to prevent a disaster." He smiled. "It’s true we had to keep quiet about that bit about getting into the conservatory, or people would say the place was unsafe – and then what would happen to Persephone? Even Scamander said she was dangerous."

"Yeah, there’s a bit about that in the paper. He even said she should be destroyed. I really thought he would be different, Tom." His face darkened. "Horrible, what they did to her, wasn’t it?"

"Yes, that was in the paper too."

"Yeah. And one of them with Polyjuice Potion ter look like me – all because I was the one hangin’ back behind the others... and they used it ter hurt Persephone!"

"Well, Rubeus," he replied, "Whoever it was had a nasty shock. They won’t be doing anything like that again."

Well, he thought. I certainly won’t!

Hagrid still looked angry, but after a moment he brightened up. He seemed much more satisfied after Tom’s explanation. "But I’ll have to be quiet about that – wouldn’ want to hurt Persephone… I really wish I remembered though," he added, after another pause.

No, you really don’t, Rubeus. "It’s probably best, though," Tom replied. "I don’t think it was a very good experience."

Hagrid shook his head. "No, that’s true, it wasn’t – not what I remember anyway."

The younger boy stood up then. "I’m goin’ back up with the rest of me House. I think the food cart’s there by now. Are yeh goin' ter go up to yer compartment?"

"Not just yet," Tom replied.

"All right. See yeh later, then." Hagrid ducked his head through the door and disappeared from Tom’s sight.

Tom knew that Hagrid trusted him, and he doubted that the boy would brag about his supposed heroism, though he would surely answer any direct questions. Not that it mattered – the story that he’d given to the younger boy fit almost perfectly with the article, except for that one single detail about Hagrid going into a conservatory later – but even if Hagrid were to talk, that small deception could be explained.

Not that he will talk, Tom thought with a smile. He wouldn’t like to hurt Persephone – and Tom would think up other reasons he could give to the Gryffindor later.

He decided it would probably be wise to explain to Professor Gryme, when he spoke to him, precisely what he had told Hagrid. In fact, he realised, he might have to explain a lot to Gryme, who had not been present when he’d disclosed his full story to the earl. Although shortly after that, he reflected, Lord Mountwarlock had probably repeated the salient points of his story to Gryme, after he’d been sent into the past.

It was curious that even after admitting what he’d done to the earl, Gryme had retained Lord Mountwarlock’s trust, and they had even conspired together. It occurred to Tom that the fear that the Ministry would look on earl as a threat if they ever learned about the ring might not be his only motivation in spreading that web of lies about the issue. After all, if the earl had revealed the truth, the full truth, it would undoubtedly have destroyed the new life Gryme had built for himself at Hogwarts, and it seemed that the earl was unwilling to do that. The apprentice had never quite lost that connexion with his old tutor.

It had not been lost in his own case, either, Tom reflected. Gryme had been secretive and mysterious, but Tom still trusted his professor, and he still valued Gryme’s trust in him. He thought he understood Gryme’s reasons for keeping the complete truth of the ring to himself, now that he knew more about it.

Especially, said a voice in the back of his brain, if Dr. Gryme really didn’t resist the pressures of his Dark brotherhood.

The sudden thought surprised him; he had always wondered about his professor, but he really hadn’t yet dwelt on the idea, even after Dr. Gryme’s story, but now he thought back to the words Gryme had used, when the professor had confessed everything in the earl’s study.

"We were linked by the deepest of magical bonds, you see, and I knew I could never fully escape them…"

And Professor Gryme wouldn’t lie to me, Tom thought; but then, Gryme had never said in so many words that he had been able to resist his old blood brothers – only that he had tried. It was not an outright lie, if he had indeed joined them. He remembered Lord Mountwarlock’s words: "He wouldn’t tell an outright lie. It isn’t his way..."

But careful wording to conceal his secrets was Gryme’s way. His speech to Tom the previous morning, describing the ring, had been just that. And, Tom decided, so had his admission in Lord Mountwarlock’s study.

"I could not entirely deny my old blood-oath, which binds me to them even now…"

Somehow Tom knew, with certainty, that his professor had not broken ties with his brotherhood, as he had implied. He was almost as sure that Gryme had even rejoined them, and shared their Dark sympathies… after all, the Arithmancer had supplied Tom with knowledge not only beyond his subject, but even beyond what anyone would consider acceptable learning at Hogwarts…

* * * * *

Tom awoke a few minutes before the Hogwarts Express pulled to a stop at the Hogsmeade station, and he forced himself to trudge back to the rest of the Slytherins.

"Where’ve you been, Tom?" asked Garrick with a sneer. "Boasting to the Ravenclaws?"

"No," Tom said, rolling his eyes. "I fell asleep in one of the back compartments."

Garrick shrugged and shook his head. "Whatever."

"Admit it, you’re just jealous, Garrick," Potter smirked, "because Professor Gryme didn’t ask you to call the Ministry."

"As if I would want to use one of those Muggle things to talk to the Ministry," Garrick said sarcastically.

Tom pushed past them; he had no interest in their banter, and he was eager to get off of the train, and find Professor Gryme. However, he didn’t catch a glimpse of his Arithmancy professor until after the students traveled back to the castle from the station in the school’s horseless carriages. But Gryme was quite obviously waiting for him, as he climbed out of the carriage, and motioned him over with a wave of his hand.

The rest of the students were not in the least surprised that Tom did not accompany them to their rooms; most of the Slytherins knew that Tom spent a good deal of time with Professor Gryme, and no doubt all of them expected Gryme to speak with him in detail about yesterday’s events. Not that they could guess what details, he thought.

Gryme led him upstairs to the familiar Arithmancy classroom, and locked the door behind him. He even whispered a Privacy Ward, and Tom thought, with a half-smile, that he would not have to attempt to eavesdrop through this particular ward. Dr. Gryme invited him to sit at the table where they usually pored over books and calculations – but now the table was completely empty as Gryme took a seat on the other side.

"I commend you," Professor Gryme began, "for how you handled yourself yesterday. You acted far more capably than I would expect from any third year student."

"Thank you, Professor," Tom replied, without expression.

Gryme watched him silently for a moment, as if trying to read his mind. "I was… disappointed, at first, that you had disregarded my initial orders – had you followed my instructions, it is likely that none of this would have occurred – but I presume you did so in your determination to succeed?"

Tom met his professor’s gaze. "I did not want to fail you."

Gryme smiled briefly. "Such resolve, of course, is an attribute of your character I am usually only too pleased with. It has served you well – but not in this case. I would advise you to use more discretion in your judgement of such matters.

"However, I cannot blame you entirely – I can understand your willingness to disobey my instructions, when I myself did not stress the consequences as I should have. Nor was I entirely… forthright. And because of that, I am just as much at fault."

"And the ring was your creation," Tom said quietly.

"And that, yes. Though not entirely mine, as Gerontius pointed out. It was truly Zeuxes’ to begin with. And I doubt I could ever repeat his work in enchanting the ring – even with a lifetime of study – though certainly I did develop it. But it was a precarious undertaking."

"But why…" Tom frowned thoughtfully. "If it was such a risky task, why did you send me to retrieve the ring? It seems you could have got it yourself, Professor, and much more easily."

Dr. Gryme folded his hands and leaned forward. "I had a number of reasons, Tom. For one, I was worried that the ring might react to me immediately, the instant I touched it – and Gerontius would have tracked me down as quickly as his father had before. I also clung to the theory that, if you merely held the ring, or even wore it, without knowing what it was, and did not perform any spells while it was in your possession, that the magic at Mountwarlock Park would not respond to it." His mouth twisted into a bleak smile. "That, obviously, was a miscalculation on my part – I suspect it would have reacted, even if you hadn’t used magic within the house.

"But lastly, it was a test of sorts, for you. And I think," he added, "that it was a successful task, in that respect. You proved your intelligence, your skill, and sheer determination." He paused thoughtfully, and murmured, almost to himself. "Yes… I think you will do well. I believe you’re ready…"

Ready for what? Tom wondered, but he didn’t enquire aloud. Instead he asked the question he’d had in his mind since he’d been on the train. "What did you really want the ring for? It can’t have been for protection now. You’re protected at Hogwarts, aren’t you, and certainly don’t act as if you’re in fear."

Gryme raised his eyebrows and stared at Tom warily. "No – this time it was not for protection. I’d wanted it more for personal research than anything. I imagine I would have explained quite a bit of the theory to you."

Tom took a deep breath and steeled his nerve. "But... was it even truly for protection before? And… did you really need a defence from the brotherhood?" he questioned, forcing himself not to look away.

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Tom was a little afraid of what Gryme might do. Will he cast a Memory Charm on me? he wondered, but he did not truly expect his Arithmancy professor to do such a thing. A moment later Gryme spoke.

"I originally had intended the ring to be for my personal safety, after Zeuxes’ death," he said softly. "That was entirely true. And my blood brothers had followed me, at first enticing me to join them, their persistence over the years eventually growing to threats…

"But when I finally did rejoin them, after leaving Mountwarlock Park, it was not merely due to fear for my life." His expression was grim. "I’d seen what had become of Durmstrang, during the war and afterwards, and I’d heard, from my blood brothers, what Grindelwald had planned for the future. And I began to see, in my own experience, that our connexions with Muggles were becoming dangerous, and our wizarding authorities were not handling the situations prudently.

"It was a personal decision, not one made out of fear, or one pushed upon me."

Tom knew his face was impassive. "But you joined with Grindelwald." It was no longer a question.

"I did."

Tom just nodded. There was a long silence.

"I will understand if you desire to end your private studies with me, and I will not begrudge it in any way…"

"No," Tom said at last, and he lifted his head and met the Dark Wizard’s stare. "There are many things I haven’t learned, Dr. Gryme, and you are still my professor…"

Gryme let out his breath slowly, and a faint smile crept over his face. "You, too, have made a choice then – are you sure you do not regret it?"

Tom did not hesitate. "Yes, I’m sure."

"Let us hope, then, that you remain as firm in your decision. There are… numerous things to which I would like to introduce you." He stood up from his chair. "For now, however, perhaps it is best if you went down to dinner."

Tom, too, rose from his seat. "Thank you, Professor."

Gryme shook his head. "Perhaps I should be the one offering you gratitude."

Tom gave a quick smile, and a nod, and left the room.

It is true, then, Tom thought to himself, standing outside the Arithmancy classroom. It did not seem unreal, or shocking to him that his trusted mentor was a Dark follower of Grindelwald – though he wondered if that was due merely to the newness of the knowledge. He doubted it. If anything, he felt a little shiver of excitement: there was much within the realm of the Dark Arts that would be advantageous to his personal ambitions – his continuing search for the Chamber of Secrets – and he knew now, with certainty, that Dr. Gryme would be able to help him with that endeavour.

And his alliance with Dr. Gryme would be important, should Grindelwald actually gain control, especially for a half-blood like Tom… His thoughts darkened for a moment. The mark of having a Muggle father would always be with him.

Or would it? He thought back to Lord Mountwarlock’s verdict on Grindelwald, and the danger he posed to the wizarding world.

"He must have guessed he’s going to lose... and the cultural changes among the Muggles are decades away from being a threat. If you ask me, he’s made his attempt too soon..."

Tom wondered if such a speculation could be true, and if Grindelwald would ultimately fail. Certainly Grindelwald commanded much power… For the first time, Tom let himself wonder what it would be like to have such control, and be called a lord; to have power like that of Grindelwald, with force enough at his command to hope to be able to change a world; or privilege like the Earl of Mountwarlock’s, with devoted retainers to serve him and the authority to resist being overcome by a powerful league of opponents.

And you could have that, too, if you wanted it, a voice whispered in his mind, and the scope of his ambition surprised him. No one alive knew it yet, but he was already the heir himself to one of the most powerful wizards in history, and he was determined to unlock the Chamber of Secrets, and whatever mysteries his ancestor had left behind.

But the Chamber, he suddenly realised, was just a beginning. There could be more – there would be more. But he couldn’t see himself rising in the Ministry, as Lord Mountwarlock had predicted. There was no dignity in that, or in the countless petty lies of politics. His thoughts went back to the earl’s belief that Grindelwald had tried too soon, that the wizarding families didn’t yet feel threatened enough to risk going down with him.

"Their position is still quite secure. The Ministry’s nothing like as intrusive as it’s going to be in thirty years…"

They might not feel threatened yet, but they would do in time, and if by then Tom was known as the last of an ancient family, the one true heir of Slytherin, and possessed the power to lead them, they would fall ripe into his hand. Not the smallest murmur of half-blood or Mudblood would even be whispered of Slytherin’s heir. The notion startled him for a moment. He’d never realised before how potent and influential his personal quest could become.

Although Tom had sympathised greatly with the earl, he began to wonder if he should be glad that Newt Scamander had survived at the Ministry, able to fight another day.

* * * * *

Of course, as always, we owe many thanks to our wonderful beta readers, Rebecca, Erica, Melanie, Mellie, Cally, Mary Ann, and Helen, whose thoughtful commentary never fails to be helpful, encouraging, and often amusing as well.

Also, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed; your comments are always appreciated.

And now, on to the extensive end notes! There are a few mild spoilers ahead.

End Notes

Chapter One:

Mountwarlock Park, the Leicestershire seat of the Earls of Mountwarlock... The Earl of Mountwarlock (or perhaps his successor) is likely to be familiar to readers of Michael Wharton’s "Way of the World" column in the Muggle newspaper The Daily Telegraph. They will undoubtedly recall he is eight foot tall and Cyclops-eyed, and that his factotum Phantomsby is one of the last werewolves still to be found in the Midland shires. His Leicestershire seat, Mountwarlock Park, appears to be open to paying visitors – and like so many stately homes open to the public it has a safari park in the grounds, filled with remarkably unusual creatures, and frequently lethal to tourists with cameras and curious employees of the government.

Now the earl (as presented in these last pages) does not appear to be Cyclops-eyed, but in other particulars the Muggle tradition is in fact remarkably accurate. It is surely a matter for some concern among wizarding authorities that so much of the nature of Mountwarlock Park, including the identity of the magical beasts, is common knowledge among the Muggle population, and the Ministry’s Department of Misinformation undoubtedly takes a great deal of care to ensure these accounts are never believed.

"The last of our ancient magical 'immunities.'" Wizarding historians may note that the Muggle world also had legal "immunities" once, the last of which vanished with the early Tudors. The closest parallel in modern times is the peculiar legal status of the Muggle colleges at Oxford and Cambridge, but the scope of the autonomy of the earls of Mountwarlock seems to be much more far-reaching. The reader curious for more information is advised to peruse the Encyclopaedia of Magic.

"We talk, sometimes." A more detailed explanation of Tom Riddle’s odd acquaintance with Hagrid is provided in the short chapter Parseltongue , which describes a certain event that occurs a few months before The Arithmancer’s Apprentice.

Mr. Knowles. David Knowles, the historian, was also a Benedictine monk. The name may be purely coincidental with that of the earl of Mountwarlock’s librarian – and the historian was a great deal more interesting – but there are strong hints within this narrative that Mountwarlock Park in earlier times had once been a Benedictine abbey.

Chronoscopes. "The Dark Tower", an unfinished story by the late C.S. Lewis, describes the creation of a chronoscope, although that one seems not to reveal the past, as Lord Mountwarlock’s appear to do, but instead shows a time that is simply "other," and far more unusual.

Dipsomania, by Mustafa Swig. The title appears to be identical with one that genuinely exists in a false door to a secret staircase at one end of Chatsworth House’s long library, invented by the travel writer Patrick Leigh Fermor.

Waited on by liveried house-elves… and …a house-elf appeared, dressed in her brown-and-silver embroidered tea towel… There are signs that the brown-and-silver livery of the Earl of Mountwarlock’s household is remarkably coincidental to that of the Vorkosigan family in the far-future planet of Barrayar, in Lois McMaster Bujold’s narratives.

"My cousin will get the house and the land – all of it. I’d be lucky to keep the house in London. Papa would never let a girl inherit." Discerning readers may notice a parallel between Lord Mountwarlock’s daughter, Cleopatra, and the writer and gardener Vita Sackville-West, the only child of the third Lord Sackville; she was heartbroken that she would not inherit Knole – one of the oldest and largest houses in England – from her father.

Ancient Chronicles of Bramandin…"family history, of a sort." Not much is known of the ultimate origin of the Mountwarlock family, but from Cleopatra’s hints and allusions the erudite reader may determine a great deal. Wizarding histories are unusually reticent, and the most revealing information appears to be of Muggle origin.

In the first of his seven Chronicles of Narnia, The Magician’s Nephew, Professor C.S. Lewis relates the boast of Jadis, the last Queen of Charn, and an enchantress of very great power in her own world, when taunted by a mob on the streets of London in the final year of Queen Victoria, she threatens to destroy their city as completely as the ruins on her own dead world. The crowd booed and bellowed again. A stone whistled over Digory’s head. Then came the voice of the Witch, clear like a great bell, and sounding as if, for once, she were almost happy. "Scum! You shall pay dearly for this when I have conquered your world. Not one stone of your city will be left. I will make it as Charn, as Felinda, as Sorlis, as Bramandin."

From this it would seem that Bramandin was a city of some importance in the same world as Charn, a city from which ancestors of the Earls of Mountwarlock derived. The Mountwarlock family is perhaps of the same royal dynasty as Jadis; their ability to do wandless magic within the bounds of their immunity is deeply suggestive of kinship, for magic in Charn requires no wand to focus it in the hands of one whose royal or noble blood puts him in tune with that world’s enchantments – precisely as in Steeple Warlock.

"Mrs. Lefay for magical painting..." Readers of Professor Lewis’ account of the first adventure of Digory Kirke may recall that his Uncle Andrew’s godmother was also known as Mrs. Lefay, and, moreover, of faery blood. Could she be some sort of relation? Both may well have been descended from the enchantress Morgan le Fay.

"Alqazar, perhaps, in Morocco..." Alqazar is a school of wizardry in the mountains of Mauritania with a history going back to days of Carthage, and also a worldwide reputation for teaching Arithmantic sciences. It is believed to have trained the magicians renowned in the age of the Arabian Nights, and was the undoubted alma mater of Aladdin’s enigmatic opponent. Readers desirous of more information are encouraged to view An Alternative Appraisal of Magical Education.

"There are threads of magic all over the house, all kinds of ancient enchantments, which – somehow – are all in tune to us." Students of Patricia Wrede’s narrations of the Enchanted Forest may recall that the King of the Enchanted Forest uses remarkably similar words to describe the sort of wandless magic he practices.

"The Mountwarlocks have always been tall, for as long as anyone can remember. My late great-grandfather was eight foot high. In any other family there might be rumours of giantish ancestry," she spoke the words with some distaste, and Tom’s mind went to Rubeus Hagrid, "but people wouldn't quite dare say that about us; I suppose they know it's a family trait." Perhaps Cleopatra protests too much. "Some say," writes Lewis in The Magician's Nephew, "that there is giantish blood in the royal house of Charn." Indeed, the Beaver in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe says the Witch was descended on one side from Lilith (and from the djinn), and on the other side from the giants.

Judging by the figures in the Hall of Images, her ancestors were as tall as Cleopatra's – another indication of kinship.

Chapter Two:

Visitors to Scelpings, my estate in Hertfordshire… Sir Maximus Drake’s Muggle equivalent is the famous Sir Alexander Bassinger, whose own Muggle house in Hertfordshire was immortalised by Sir P.G. Wodehouse. Bludleigh Court is so like Scelpings (with Muggle stuffed animals rather than magical) that it seems not unlikely the two hunting baronets might be related. Was there an unknown squib perhaps somewhere in the Drake family line?

An old book bound in red leather… the faded decoration of a golden ring… The writer had used an alphabet, but one that Tom had never seen. Readers of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings may begin to wonder at this point if this is the original manuscript, or, at least, a very close copy of the famous Red Book of Westmarch. See the notes to future chapters.

"Monsieur Anatole’s miracles are sometimes quite as tempting as Nectar, and I can’t imagine any guest skipping a meal." Readers of Bertie Wooster’s adventures at his Aunt Dahlia’s rural lair may suspect that Melanthia, the Countess of Mountwarlock, is not above poaching a chef of genius from the employ of a Muggle acquaintance.

A Moorish Playwright, by Sheik Spier. Credit for this remarkable notion should go, we believe, to Colonel Gaddaffi. Some years ago the Libyan potentate conceived the notion that the great English playwright "Sheikh Spier" was really an Arab living in London five hundred years ago, who anglicised his name to "Shakespeare."

The latest brainwaves of a wizard called Spender, in the American Department of Misinformation, whose radical idea of using the new Muggle superstitions about spaceships and Martians as a sort of cover for magical happenings was already being debated by the International Confederation of Wizards. Aficionados of the American television show The X-Files may well be surprised by the true motives of a cigarette-smoking wizard. Aliens and spaceships are simply a cover: Muggles correctly suspecting conspiracy have had their curiosity misdirected away from the existence of the magical world towards a fictional alien threat. Sinister government conspirators are stooges of the American Department of Mysteries, whose agents in Muggle governments are quite unaware of with whom they are conspiring.

Around him rows of statues and steep roofs stretched to either side… Some readers have noticed the similarity between Mountwarlock Park and Mervyn Peake’s marvellous creation of Gormenghast, with Tom Riddle crossing the roofs like Steerpike. This is far from accidental – although Lord Mountwarlock is brighter than Sepulchrave!

Chapter Three:

There was not a glimpse to be had of the broken roof. It is possible that the Great Conservatory owes something to the botanical gardens in Gene Wolfe’s The Shadow of the Torturer, as well as being a glorified version of the various botanical hothouses belonging to English country houses of the time.

A large reddish-brown plant behind him. This is one of a number of hints that not all the hothouse’s plants are terrestrial. This plant in particular may well belong to the aforementioned planet of Barrayar.

"THAT’S Persephone?" The heroine of Melanie's (DrummerGirl's) Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin is also called Persephone. We doubt if she was named, though, after a Hydra – unless Rubeus Hagrid helped choose the name!

Why hadn’t he thought about Hydra mythology first? The irony is that the Muggle mythology suggests that Tom had been quite right, and burning a head should indeed have killed it. It’s somewhat disturbing that it wasn’t effective. In fact, one wonders what Heracles did have to do to slay the Hydra he fought in the swamps.

Chapter Four:

The Muggle professor... The identity of Tom Riddle’s Muggle rescuer was never told us directly. Circumstantial evidence leaves little doubt that it was J.R.R. Tolkien.

For one thing, their tastes were remarkably similar: smoking a pipe, a fondness for beer, for good plain food, and a very strong dislike of French cooking.

In addition, although a Roman Catholic, the responsibility fell on Tolkien at times for his college to select the parish priests for the Church of England in livings that were in the gift of his college. On occasion he did this during the war, and was struck by the relative abundance of food in the countryside even in a time of rationing. It has even been suggested that this was an inspiration when he came to write "The Scouring of the Shire."

Furthermore, the Muggle professor’s speculations about the nature elvish drama recall closely Tolkien’s words on the subject in his essay "On Faery Stories." He cannot be blamed for unwittingly planting the notion in Tom’s mind that later produced the enchanted diary.

Moreover, at the time in question Tolkien’s writing of The Lord of the Rings had been stuck for some months at Balin’s tomb. Shortly after the events of this story he was able to continue, and to revise what he had written. It is certainly possible that the original Red Book of Westmarch came into his hands at this point – or, at the least, a very close copy. For more information see the note to Chapter Nine. Certainly Tolkien’s words to Tom Riddle shortly after he found the book make it clear that he knew both the script and the language.

Zaccharus Pinch. The name Zaccharus comes from the Greek for sugar. One wonders what his parents were thinking.

Lancelot Harker. One questions if he was related to Kay Harker, the hero of John Masefield’s The Midnight Folk and The Box of Delights, and to Sard Harker, the hero of a book of that name, and like his probable kinsman Kay, an opponent of a wicked magician called Abner Brown.

Chapter Five:

Hesitantly, Tom turned around to stare at the painting on the wall behind him. He could just make out the shape of the Black Unicorn – its swinging lantern the only truly distinguishable feature through the clouds of snow that swirled across the canvas. This is one of the more puzzling features of the account. Egg tempera is painted on wood, not on canvas – nor would the painting last long if it were. Assuming, as we must, that Cleopatra and Professor Olga Tempera are right in describing these picture-doors as being painted with the yolk of a Diricawl, one is left to conclude that Tom Riddle had very little interest in art, and that in this case he was mistaken.

"...1815, when the frost giants’ army came marching south." 1815 was a year famous for its very cold summer, when England had snow through July. Muggle historians blame the disaster the previous year, when the volcanic island of Krakatoa exploded. Wizards know there was more to it than that.

"And I know your O.W.L.s were a good deal worse than what I’d expect from a not-too-agile-minded Flobberworm..." We can safely assume from this that Jasper read P.G. Wodehouse, perhaps in a magical translation: a visual translation, no doubt, as Jasper implies he seldom reads. The honourable Galahad Threepwood had little regard for the intelligence of his well-meaning brother, Lord Emsworth: "his IQ is about thirty points lower than what you’d expect from a not-too-agile-minded jellyfish."

"What would have become of Walpurga’s?" The witch who founded what seems to be Durmstrang’s only house to accept girls perhaps gave her name to Walpurgisnacht.

The triple peak of Mount Olympus towered above them in the fresco. This view is undoubtedly seen from the North – perhaps across the bay from Thessalonica.

"Well, the prefects had a lot more power. They’d go in the common rooms and shout things like "here" – and the last person to touch them would have to do what they asked. They still do that, at times, you know." This has long been a prefect’s privilege in the houses at Winchester College – although in recent decades prefects have been restricted to making orders of public importance when they invoke this privilege.

Chapter Six:

Mr. Pergamon. Pergamon is the Greek word for parchment – named after the city where it was invented.

Wayland Smith. A blacksmith of legendary skill in Old English poetry and folklore who came to be worshipped as a god.

Headmaster Dolgoruky. The Dolgoruky family are mostly princes. We suspect it is implied that the headmaster’s aristocratic connexions were so wide-ranging that he was in a position to challenge the brotherhoods, and to break them, when the Muggle war left them divided.

Chapter Seven:

Maria Jones. One of several Muggle siblings, a younger Maria was a major protagonist in John Masefield’s The Box of Delights, at which time she gave no hint of possessing magic. She was perhaps overly fond for her age of Muggle artefacts known as pistols; in her own words, "I’ve generally got a pistol or two about me and I’m a dead shot with both hands." Although good-hearted and very courageous, it is perhaps not completely surprising that before she was ten, she had been expelled from three Muggle schools.

Emily Finch. Sadly, she cannot be "Sharp Little Emily" in Countess de la Pasture’s marvellous comedy, "The Unlucky Family"; she lived a generation too late. If she was related, though, to her namesake, Maria’s opinion may be unfair to her.

Harry Oldcastle. Sir John Oldcastle was the name Shakespeare first gave to Sir John Falstaff, though he later would write of him: "Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man."

Charles Potter. He is almost certainly not Harry Potter’s grandfather, though is surely somehow related to the Boy Who Lived.

Heriot Morton. A heriot was the name of a widely hated medieval inheritance tax. Archbishop Morton was King Henry VII’s notorious tax collector, inventor of Morton’s Fork, by which victims who spent money were assumed to be rich, while those who did not were assumed to be making substantial savings: either way they could expect to be taxed. The Minister for Magic at the time of the war against Grindelwald very much approved of taxation.

Chapter Eight:

Dr. Metheglin. Metheglin was a honey-mead, "medicated" or spiced with herbs and an egg yolk. "Very pleasant and wholesome liquor."

"Timing," he said, "is everything." An observation by Tom Riddle that recalls the words of Miles Vorkosigan as he springs his trap on Haroche in Lois McMaster Bujold's Memory. Perhaps this is the very beginning of the future Lord Voldemort's sense of theatre.

Chapter Nine:

"It was a small, red leather-bound book, with a golden ring engraved on the cover, in a very strange script… written in more than one hand… Most of it was small, and clear, but the very first bit was in a different hand: larger, and a good deal more untidy." This account of the handwriting in particular suggests that the red-coloured volume Tom took from the library really was the Red Book of Westmarch itself, and not a later copy.

Tarnhelm. The Tarnhelm is an artefact of Germanic legend with the reputed power of enabling its wearer to change shape and become invisible, and perhaps in addition to travel to great distances instantaneously.

Far more practical than Polyjuice Potion, the wearer could transform into any man, woman or beast for as long as he wished, change his size, or become invisible. If Lord Mountwarlock's treasury really did possess such an item, it may seem odd that it was not used to aid Tom Riddle's impersonation of Hagrid. On the other hand, a flask of Polyjuice Potion would have seemed adequate for the task, and the earl may not have quite trusted Tom with an object as precious as this.

Chronology

1865 Maximus Drake, son of Sir Julius Drake, baronet, is born at Scelpings Hall, Hertfordshire.

1872 On a family visit to Mountwarlock Park, Maximus Drake attempts to hunt Hippogriffs in the park with a stolen wand.

1875 Grindelwald is born in Saxony.

1876 Maximus Drake goes to Hogwarts. Death of the old Earl of Mountwarlock. Gerontius' father, Parmenion, inherits. He marries Aspasia Hieromanci, daughter of the Duchess of Aragona, the only surviving direct descendant of the legendary magical artist.

1881 Abbacus Gryme is born in Bohemia, the son of Theodore Gryme, steward to Baron Maximilian von Edelheim of Schloss Tarnhausen. Gryme's mother Aurelia was of a cadet branch of very minor and impoverished central European wizarding nobility – but an old family. Drake attends his first dragon hunt in Scotland, in which he acquires a reputation for skill and bravery in the chase.

1883 Maximus Drake leaves Hogwarts. He hunts Peruvian Vipertooth Dragons as part of a concerted wizarding effort to reduce their numbers in the Andean mountains. He finds a map of lost treasure of Inca wizards. He does not spot the Atlantean connexion, but recognising its antiquity he keeps the map in his desk for some years.

1885 Zeuxes is born at Mountwarlock Park, Leicestershire.

1888 Drake kills a 50 foot long Basilisk in India, single-handedly. He receives several medals in India, and the Order of Merlin, Second Class in England.

1890 Sir Maximus Drake inherits his father's baronetcy, and begins to fill Scelpings with hunting trophies: dragon heads and griffin skins, stuffed basilisk, etc.

1892 Abbacus Gryme goes to school in Durmstrang. In the next few years he becomes closely acquainted with a number of German wizards who later become part of Grindelwald's inner circle.

1893 Abbacus Gryme is initiated into the Brotherhood of the Golden Branch.

1894 Gerontius is born at Mountwarlock Park.

1897 Newt Scamander is born. Zeuxes goes to Durmstrang, a year later than is normal.

1898 Drake gives the map to Zeuxes at Christmas.

1899 Abbacus Gryme leaves Durmstrang. He spends some years in Germany and Bohemia. He travels widely, including visits to Alqazar in Morocco, between the years 1899 and 1906.

1902 Zeuxes leaves school early to learn Arithmancy at Alqazar in Morocco. Inspired by the ancient charts he finds in Alqazar, he begins to prepare for his search for Atlantis.

1905 - 1915 Zeuxes’ search for Atlantis takes him to hidden islands in the ocean, submerged cities, and finally into the past.

1905 Gerontius is sent to Durmstrang. The Most Honourable Order of Arithmancers awards Gryme.

1906 Gryme returns to Durmstrang to teach Arithmancy. Gerontius becomes Gryme's personal pupil.

1908 Newt Scamander arrives at Hogwarts.

1912 Gerontius leaves Durmstrang. Zeuxes returns from his search. Gerontius takes over several of the responsibilities at Mountwarlock Park, which his elder brother as the heir would normally have been concerned with. Overshadowed by his brother’s brilliance, and left with all the work and responsibility, he begins to resent Zeuxes. The school governors appoint Nikolai Dolgoruky as the 81^st headmaster of Durmstrang.

1914 Outbreak of war in the Muggle world. Crisis in the wizarding world. Durmstrang Institute is closed for a term. Grindelwald reopens the arena of Necrophylacos, where he begins to initiate wizards into the game of Imperius Quidditch (some of Gryme's old friends among them) and rebuilds the Dark Order. Dr. Gryme is compelled to leave Durmstrang, rather than make a choice between his brotherhood and the headmaster. Dr. Gryme becomes librarian at Mountwarlock House – and carries on his research alone. Gerontius continues to learn from him, but over the years they become less close.

1915 Scamander leaves Hogwarts and joins the Ministry of Magic at the Department of House-Elf Relocation. He makes his first visits to Steeple Warlock. Gryme begins to be visited by his old friends from school, who occasionally come in secret to the Black Unicorn. He becomes deeply involved in Zeuxes' time-travel experiment. Zeuxes is lost in the past at the climax of his experiment. Aware of his own limitations as a wizard, Dr. Gryme begins to research the idea of magical rings, and Arithmantic devices for manipulating other enchantments greater than his own. Gerontius' responsibilities as his father's heir take him away from home in the ensuing years.

1916 Marriage of Newt Scamander.

1924 Dr. Gryme's experiment with the ring exposes him to the Earl of Mountwarlock. He hides the ring in the painting in his study.

1926 Marriage of Gerontius to Lady Melanthia in the chapel at Mountwarlock House.

1927(July) Tom Riddle born. (December) Lady Cleopatra Mountwarlock born.

1929 Dr. Gryme leaves Mountwarlock Park and begins to teach at Hogwarts. About this time, Dr. Gryme plays Imperius Quidditch for the first time before Grindelwald in the arena.

1933 The late Earl of Mountwarlock dies. Gerontius becomes earl. His mother retreats to a tower at the other end of the house – about half a mile's walk from the family wing. The new earl appoints Phantomsby as his factotum and agent of his power.

1938 Tom Riddle goes to Hogwarts, and learns rumours of the Chamber of Secrets.

1939 The Muggle war begins. To begin with, this has little impact on wizards, with the exception of those who work in the Ministry for Magic, or have Muggle families. Heriot Morton becomes the Minister of Magic. Open war begins with Grindelwald.

1940 Dr. Gryme becomes Tom Riddle's Arithmancy professor, and begins to instruct him in the Forbidden Arts. Tom discovers he is a Parselmouth.

1941(January) Tom Riddle and Rubeus Hagrid go to Mountwarlock Park. Tom meets Cleopatra, Lord Mountwarlock, Drake, Scamander and Professor Tolkien. Gryme’s attempt to use Tom to recover the ring backfires, and after traumatic events Lord Mountwarlock recovers the ring, and conspires with Gryme to deceive the Ministry. Regular school excursions to Mountwarlock Park end. Abbacus Gryme begins to take Tom Riddle deeper into the Dark Arts. Cleopatra becomes interested in her uncle Zeuxes’ legacy. (Late May) Dr. Gryme takes Tom to play Imperius Quidditch before Grindelwald. Gryme leaves his position at Hogwarts. (July) Tom begins to perform secret missions for the wizarding authorities. At the same time, he sinks further into the Dark Arts, and resumes his search for the Chamber of Secrets.

1942 Tom becomes a prefect. He creates for himself the name Lord Voldemort.

1943 Tom opens the Chamber of Secrets, and commits his first murder. He frames Hagrid, who is expelled, and is given an award for Special Services to the School. Later in the year, while in London, he begins to create an enchanted diary. After a chance meeting with Cleopatra in Diagon Alley, he uses the library of Mountwarlock House in London for his research, and becomes aware of her own secret quest.

1944 Tom Riddle returns to Hogwarts as Head Boy. His intimate friends already call him Lord Voldemort.

1945 Tom Riddle leaves Hogwarts and kills his father and paternal grandparents during the summer holidays. He begins to travel widely.

1960's(middle years) Tom Riddle resurfaces as Lord Voldemort, and secretly draws allies to him and creates divisions in the wizarding world.

1967 Newt Scamander gains victory at the Ministry of Magic, with help of new families, and the secret help of Lord Voldemort's agents. Ban on Experimental Breeding is passed. Old wizarding families begin to feel threatened.

1970 Lord Voldemort declares himself. He begins his open campaign for power.