Elucidation of the Darkest Hues

Prologue

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"There is a test that each child of the Cronk wizarding family must undergo upon reaching eleven years of age. Whether they receive a Hogwarts letter or not the parents of every son and daughter take the youngster to the vaults of Gringott's Bank in Diagon Ally, where they prove their identity with a password, key and a few drops of blood. No one knows what is in the vault the child enters; the family, even the children, refuses to speak of it, and legend tells that the unworthy seeker cannot pry the secret out of one who is privy to the information, even under force of torture or Veritaserum."

~Curiosities of Local Custom, an Analysis by Ora Wongle

Today is my eleventh birthday. Much to the disappointment of my family, the morning post was conspicuously lacking a Hogwarts' letter. Mum had to excuse herself, and Gran sat across the breakfast table and glared at me for twenty minutes. Merlin! Everyone is so unbearable! As if it was my fault the letter didn't come! Father came up to my room, a minute ago, babbling about mistakes, wayward owls, and contacting the Ministry. Why can't they just leave me alone? Mira and Jordan both got letters last year and Marcus is a prefect. You'd think that three perfect children would be enough to satisfy any family, but noooo. Besides, I didn't want to go to Bloody Hogwarts anyway. Stupid letter. I'll just stay here forever! I refuse to leave my room again! That will show them!

It's been awhile. No one is noticing my protest. My ceiling is very boring to look at. I should be reading that curiosities tomb that Mum gave me. It's very boring as well. I like my bed; it's really comfortable. The house is very quite, I wonder where everyone is. I could go look for them, but then, I'd have to get up. Maybe, I'll just take a nap instead...

"Ileeta Carmen Melissa Cronk! If you aren't down here in five seconds..."

Merlin's Eyeballs! I spring out of bed as Mira's silence spell comes crashing down with a hideous screech like glass shards on a chalkboard. Ha, stupid show off; she's not nearly as good as she thinks, if her spell can't even hold up to one of Mum's yells. Oh no, Mum used all my names. What did I do? She can't be that upset about the letter can she? Bloody Hell where are my shoes? I scramble around my messy room searching for the black slippers that go with the purple robes I am wearing, while mentally cataloging everything I've done in the past week that could possibly cause such maternal wrath. I can't come up with anything. She's going to kill me and I'll never know why! I can still hear my mother yelling. I run down the hall and skid around the corner, grabbing the banister so that I don't pass the stairs. I can hear more clearly now, late...appointment...Floo Network...goblins? Oh dear, I check the grandfather clock on the landing as I sprint by; I'm really late. No wonder she's annoyed. I was supposed to be downstairs ten minutes ago; Mum is taking me to the vault.

A flutter of nervousness flies through me, as I jump the last three steps and run toward the front fireplace. I've been waiting for this moment ever since Mira and Jordan went without me last year. Finally, I'll know what the big secret is! I wonder again why no one will speak of it. Jordan has been dropping hints about a trials and pain ever since he went last year. I hope it's just because he's a boy. Mira's never said anything; she just won't talk about it. It can't be that dangerous right? Otherwise, Jordan never would have survived. But, he got to go with Mira. I have to go alone. As I round the last corner at a run my nervousness explodes into real fear. Mum and Gran are standing there with that look on their faces. I might not live to see the vault.

"What do you think you are doing? We've been waiting for TEN MINUTES! In light of everything that has happened today, I'd think you would show a little more RESPECT for your ELDERS!" I think my ears are going to fall off. They'll just be burnt little ovals on the floor all crispy and fried. Gran only sniffs reprovingly, but manages to stuff whole sentences into that little sound, "You were raised better than that. No Cronk has ever been as late as you are now."

I hang my head and mumble an excuse. Mum swoops over and jerks my robes into place still griping. She even runs her fingers through my hair, yanking at the tangles until it's my turn to screech. "OwwwowwOW! MUM!"

"At least you look presentable. Here's your powder, let's go!"

We take the Floo Network to the Leaky Cauldron; Mum and Gran hustle through Diagon Alley so fast that I have to jog to keep up. I'll never know how they move so quickly without appearing to hurry. We arrive at Gringott's and an important looking goblin meets us a few feet in. We walk into a plain back room where we gather around a large table with a glass bowl filled with a smelly potion on top. Two other goblins join us and they begin some sort of spell. I stand still on Mum's left, resisting the temptation to tap my foot or jump up and down with impatience. It is taking forever. There are a lot of rehearsed verses, wand waving, and incomprehensible goblin ceremony. Then, everyone looks at me expectantly, while Gran grabs my hand holding a large needle; she pricks my finger and shakes few drops of blood to the bowl, just to make sure Mum explains quietly that I really am Ileeta Cronk. I think the whole thing is silly, why else would I be here? Then after a terrific ride, Mum, Gran, a little goblin, and I are standing in front of vault number 1504.

It's a rather ugly door, small, made of plain metal, lacking even a knob, until I step closer and see the picture of a woman carved in faint lines into the door. As I gaze at her, I notice that her face is somehow more alive than it should be, and suddenly I am afraid again. The goblin tells me to step up and place my palm against her upraised hand. Hesitating, I look hard at the image, trying to figure out why I've got the creeps, until the goblin snaps at me to hurry up before the identification spell wears off. "Alright!" I mutter, everyone's so pushy today. I step forward and slowly reach out my hand, until it barely touches the outline of the woman's hand. The door is warm. Soft musical notes sound in the air; they are gone before I can identify the tune, and the door opens.

I step inside the tiny room. There is a comfortable looking chair before a fireplace, a bed to the right against the wall and a wooden chair and a table just big enough for a small meal. Floating in the middle of the room is a small leather book that draws me as if I am charmed. Mum's voice speaks behind me, "Take the book, and read it. Meals will appear on the table and the bed is comfortable. Take as much time as you need, Ileeta." Barely registering her words, I reach out and take the book. It is small, journal-sized, and bound in honey-colored leather. I sit down on the chair and open the book. The sound of the door closing doesn't even register as I turn the first page and watch in amazement as words appear on the blank whiteness, as if burned there by a hand I cannot see. I begin to read.

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Dear Diary,

Even as I begin this project, I wonder if it is wise. After all, the last journal I had tried to kill me--which is a rather extreme case I will give you, but a relevant event to my mind. I feel I had better state now that this endeavor is to be the culmination of the half of my life that I have spent in an insomniac daze. I hope that when the phantoms of the past finally rest, I too will dreamlessly sleep.

Peace. My life's quest. You who do not know me will laugh. How can one so young have a life's quest? My only reply is that I have never been young, even as a child. Sorcery destroys innocence and time seeps away, hours becoming years with the blink of a minute. The Dark Arts are costly.

And here, I have so readily divulged my true purpose. I will not erase such a confession for actions driven past all reason should not be undone so easily. Deep emotion serves its purpose. That is a lesson I have well learned. I will instead reveal my true-self, as my need bids me do, and make my second confession to myself, as well, as to you dearest diary, for when we have strong emotions we're able to fool ourselves*, no?

I can no longer afford to live in a childish delusion, if I am to survive the coming invasion. No, delusion ends here! I cannot really hope to survive, merely to not to fall. That must be enough; false hopes will only break me, and I cannot afford another weakness.

But, that is not my confession, nor my greatest delusion; I have procrastinated long enough. Therefore, my deepest need is not truly for peace, although I greatly desire it; no, my deepest desire is to fill the dearth of understanding that stands between me and the trust of those I ache to stand beside. So, this here is my plea: that in the end, this diary will serve to convey the motivations behind my future actions and the explanations behind my past.

This is thy task dearest book. Within your leather bindings, I burn my past, my present, and my hope for the future. You are myself, to explain to the world, so they might truly see me when I am gone. I hope this is not a muggle grail quest; surely, I can attain acceptance...acceptance of the necessity of my actions at the very least. Although, I do hope for more; for after two great wars will we not have learned enough? Might we create a better world based on faith and understanding?* Such is worth fighting for. Yes, and dying for. 'You may not hope for more; it is false.' I will repeat this until I believe. I cannot afford the mistakes such a fantasy would cost me. For indeed, now many mistakes does it take? How many more can the wizarding world afford?

I acknowledge the consequences of my past, present, and future actions. Accept the information that I here impart. Interpret and judge as you will.

~Ellanora, Lady Riddle

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Eagerly, I turn the page and wait, my body quivering, for the next entry to appear. Jordan probably hated this, locked in a room with a book! Serves him right, "Prepare yourself for paaaainnn, little sister!" Huh, stupid git! I love history, I wonder if she was real....

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