Rowena's Quill

Slughorn was particularly self-satisfied at the first post-holiday meeting of the Slug Club.

"Boys, I've done it again!" he announced.

"A new Ministry appointment?" asked Tom.

"Good guess, but no."

"You had a big one riding on the Wasps' match against the Cannons?" asked Avery.

"Gambling's a foolish habit, m'boy, but what an upset! If I hadn't seen it from the front row myself, I would have said the match was thrown! Spectacular new stadium by the way. It felt like a spring day in there. You've been, haven't you, Smith?"

"Yes, sir. I saw the match, too," said Smith.

"Of course," thought Tom. Only the rich boys could afford tickets to the new stadium.

A long discussion of Quidditch followed. Tom did his best to appear interested, but as soon as he sensed that Slughorn's enthusiasm was dwindling, he said, "But what about your news, sir?"

"Oh, yes . . ." said Slughorn casually, though Tom knew perfectly well that he was bursting with it, a sure sign that it would turn out to be a ghastly bore.

"How many of you are taking Runes?" he asked. Tom and his followers all raised their hands. "Well, you won't have your Runes professor for much longer. She'll be married at the end of the school year!"

"Congratulations," said Tom. The others echoed him.

"It was my doing, you know," said Slughorn, and he launched into the entire boring story of the arrangements for his Yule party.

Tom considered this bit of news. It left him only six months to get hold of the quill. His efforts in London had been completely fruitless. He should have known the Heiress of Ravenclaw would live in a mansion. He rubbed his arm where the stone bird had scratched him.

Now that his time was limited, he'd have to move quickly. He decided to make another attempt that night. He would go to her office with a new list of words.

She was using the quill when he got there.

"Tom, what a pleasant surprise! I hope you had a nice holiday."

"I suppose it was as nice as it could be," said Tom. "I spent it in the Muggle orphanage where I was raised."

Starkle fidgeted awkwardly, the very reaction Tom had hoped for. A pitying look soon followed, and Tom knew he had her where he wanted her.

"Congratulations on your engagement," he said airily, to show her what a trooper he was. "Professor Slughorn told us."

"Thank you," she said, hesitantly. He could tell she was feeling awkward about flaunting her good fortune before him. "I owe so much to Professor Slughorn. It's a privilege to have him for a friend. Stick with him, Tom. You never know what good he'll send your way in future."

"I intend to," said Tom.

"Of course you do. And is there anything I can help you with?"

Tom pulled out his word list and slid it across her desk. As he did it, he made sure his fingertips grazed the golden nib of the quill.

"You've been doing a lot of reading this holiday, I see," she said, looking over his list.

"Where I live, there's not much else for me to do."

She nodded somberly, touched her wand to the quill, and let it go to work. He knew he could not stare at the quill or show the slightest interest in it. It would raise too many suspicions. Luckily, she was paying more attention to his list.

"You are researching your parentage," she said in a tone of discovery. But as soon as she had let the words slip, she flushed pink with embarrassment, judging herself for being tactless and unfeeling.

"I've been searching since my first year," said Tom. "Professor Slughorn loaned me a few books on the history of old Slytherin families, and that led me to the Runes."

"Have you gotten results?" she asked timidly.

"Nothing useful," he lied.

The pitying looks were growing stronger.

"I wish I could help you . . . I know! I'll lend you Advanced Runes Translation. It's well above the level of your class, but I daresay you're up to it."

"Thank you very much," said Tom, and when she turned away to reach for the book, he slipped the quill into his pocket.

She heaved the massive book onto her desk, opened it to a detailed Table of Contents, found the relevant section, and pointed it out to Tom.

"Most records of English wizarding families are in Celtic, but you may find some Teutonic codes mixed in. And if you need further help, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you very much," Tom said.

Then, in a weak attempt to lighten the mood, she said, "Do you know, I think I saw you in Muggle London this holiday? It was on a street called Valhalla."

Tom shrugged, though his heart skipped a beat. She had spotted him after all.

"Vauxhall Road, you mean? It's possible. Muggle London gets very crowded, even in winter."

Filthy Muggles, how he longed to be away from them once and for all.

"Sophie!" came the voice of Professor Merrythought. "I've just heard the wonderful news!" Starkle stood up for her elder as usual, so Tom did, too.

"Pardon me, Tom," said Merrythought. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Not at all. I was just leaving. Thank you for the book, Professor." And with that, he left the two of them to gush over Starkle's engagement.

"That ought to keep her distracted a while," he thought.

He raced upstairs to Room of Requirement. This time he had a new plan for the quill, something different than translation. Tom never let any opportunity come to nothing. When Starkle had seen him on Vauxhall Road, he ducked into a shop and picked himself up a little prize. It was an ordinary Muggle diary, but he hoped to fill it with a record of his opening of the Chamber of Secrets.

He chuckled to himself at the workings of his own mind. One day, while cursing that sewer of an orphanage, the idea struck him. Hogwarts had no plumbing in Slytherin's times, but now that there was piping, Tom might just find easy entrance. Of course, once he opened the chamber, it might be dangerous to take credit, so he would create a record for posterity that would eventually reveal the truth. It was just as Slytherin's poem said: "Ephemeral justice, elusive truth take time to be uncovered." He had the book to enchant, and he knew which tool to use to enchant it.

He pulled the quill and the diary out of his pocket and sat as his desk. He began writing a few words. This is the true account of the achievements of the Heir of Slytherin.

The words appeared on the page, plain as any other writing, and in his own hand. "Disparecium!" said Tom, waiting anxiously to see what would happen.

In the next moment, his writing faded without a trace. It worked! Invisible writing without invisible ink! Tom could have whooped for joy. But then the quill began to write of its own accord. Tom watched in fascination as it wrote out Slytherin's poem in its entirety, and those words also disappeared.

"Not only does it think for itself, it reads minds," he thought, his resolve to keep it strengthening a hundredfold. But as soon as he'd had the thought, the quill disappeared from his hand.

"D-nit!" he yelled. He punched the desk. What had happened? He'd been sure that when he'd lost the quill previously it was because he hadn't been concentrating on it. This time, he hadn't taken his eyes off it. "The honor code is real," he concluded. Perhaps that was why it failed to tell him anything about horcruxes. Perhaps the quill considered horcruxes beneath its honor.

Then Tom had a pleasing thought. The honor code was not foolproof. If it were, he would never have been able to take the quill in the first place, yet he had done so twice already. This was a barrier he would get past sooner or later. He had defied anti-cheating hexes in every class but Transfiguration. This was probably something similar. And he had other work to do anyway. Now that he had chosen the tools to create his historical record, it was time to begin making history.

He banished the diary and Runes book to the shelf where Slytherin's scrolls were hidden and hurried down to the ground floor where he found an empty bathroom. Once inside, he broke a hole into one wall. In the language that came so naturally, he hissed through the hole, "Your master summons you!"

He waited in expectant silence. A slow, lethargic hissing echoed back. The creature was awakening from centuries of long slumber.

"Wake up! Wake up! And tell me what you are!" Tom called.

A louder, clearer hissing resounded through the pipes. Tom understood it perfectly. "I am a basilisk, the king of the serpents, ready to serve you, my lord."

The words "my lord" rang like music in his ears. The monster knew him! It even knew his real name! It was exactly as Slytherin had promised. The monster was his to command.

Tom smiled as he remembered the terror in the eyes of Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop. He had sent those snakes to coil around their legs as a simple test of his powers and gained himself two slaves because of it. This was far, far greater. With a weapon like this under his power, he might rule the entire magical world!

Tom could not help himself. He began to laugh out loud. Whom need he fear with a basilisk in his service? His voice echoed all around the empty bathroom and down the chutes to where the monster awaited him. Another hiss echoed up through the pipes, the reassuring noise that the monster was equally glad to be awakened. But after a while, Tom heard footsteps outside, long strides in a man's boots. It had to be Dumbledore.

"Reparo!" Tom whispered fiercely. The hole in the wall fixed itself. That was one large piece of evidence concealed. Now he had to hide himself, but he was momentarily frozen, unsure of what to do. His dreams of his future had taken him far from the present. Then he remembered he was standing in a bathroom. He could find privacy easily and look natural doing it. He dashed into a toilet stall, and stood there not moving a muscle, listening to Dumbledore's determined steps enter the bathroom as he paced it up and down, turned, and left. Tom did not dare leave the stall until he was sure that those footsteps had gone far, far away.