Tears of a Basilisk

Journal entry the eleventh


If I have ever said a bad word about the Weasley twins, I rescind them now. Those two are truly evil geniuses, thanks to them I managed to get my hands on some experimental WWW merchandise that wasn't yet in the store. Poor Draco never saw it coming, I'm sure, but he does look rather fetching in pink. And that sparkly feather boa was just to die for. For his sake, I'm glad that platinum hair goes with most everything, if he bore Weasley-red locks, it would have made quite the hideous spectacle. I wonder, though, why it was that he had no problem with the six-inch heels. Ah well, I'll just ask the portraits in the Slytherin rooms, they'll know.


Let's see, in my last entry I covered my first meeting with Godric, so let's continue in chronological order, shall we?

Godric and I traveled around the countryside as a wandering bard with escort, until I managed to teach him to play the flute, and then we became a duet. About a year after we had met, during which we were rarely away from each other's side, we entered this fairly large town, at least it was large by medieval standards. With our act, which was much better than most, we had many offers from wealthy and influential people to host us for the night. With offers like this, we spent about a month in this town, and would have likely spent longer if the circumstances are different. Don't get me wrong, the reason we left was more than worth it.


One night, we were headed for the tavern to line our pockets and fill our bellies, when we encountered a sight that, even now, still haunts me. There was a young girl who was being held by several rather large men while an assortment of hideous torture instruments were being assembled in the town square. It seems that we weren't going to be the only source of entertainment for the night. I asked several members of the crowd, and found out that this poor girl had committed not one, but two deadly offenses. First, she had the nerve to impersonate a boy in order to apprentice herself to a scribe, which she had maintained long enough to attain journeyman status. Second, she had a bout of accidental magic when she spilled a full pot of ink on a manuscript destined for the mayor's household. I know, such terrible crimes, aren't they. I am eternally grateful that I was raised by people that had a very forward-thinking mindset, and I wasn't trapped by the medieval biases. Well, we just couldn't let anyone be horribly tortured like that, let alone a fellow incognito magic user. Godric and I quickly formed a plan, and while I provided a distraction Godric went over to the girl, knocked out her captors, picked her up like a sack of flour and ran. Basic plan on his part, I know, but he was never one for subtleties.


Now what distraction did I provide that would draw the attention of a large, bloodthirsty crowd, you might wonder. Well, I figured that since they were calling her 'witch', etc., let's see how they would react to a full-blown druid-trained wizard, with eyes glowing, striking down several buildings with lightning while cackling gleefully. Once Godric and the girl were out of the gates, I apparated away, after first conjuring a huge fire so it looked like I was returning to hell. I am glad that both of us were wearing glamours for that incident, because I had to return to gather our belongings, with none the wiser. Most people, when rescued from a horrible, painful, gradual death would be expressing their gratitude in gushing waves and collapsing from the emotional terror of it all. It was refreshing that when I returned the girl simply nodded thanks and asked us, very matter of factly, to reveal everything we knew of magic. So we did, of course. She told us her name, which was very unique and likely to be remembered in neighbouring towns, which would ruin our daring rescue, so the three of us sat down and started to think of alternate names. Eventually, from some obscure source that she never told us, she proclaimed that she would be called Rowena from that day on. Since she really had nowhere else to go, and her skills and knowledge were very rare, not to mention that she was such a refreshing person, she joined out motley ensemble as a manager of sorts, and we became a regular traveling troupe.


I think that this will be all I cover of my story for tonight, I still have a gig to perform after all. My preparations are all coming along as they should, but I need to recharge my battery for a blood-skill I'm just starting to develop. If I succeed, it might come in handy, as well as allow me to add another layer of protection to the castle and its contents. It's starting to become difficult to stay motivated, all I want to do at times is lie down and never wake up, I'm so profoundly tired. I know I can make it, but it will be tighter than I thought.


Maybe a diversion is all I need, something to take my mind off of things. Hm, I think I'll try to get Draco and Neville together tonight, FINALLY. I swear, those two dance around each other far too much. At the very least, I can feel like I'm actually making a difference. Even if it just leads to those two shagging like bunnies, I'll be able to see the impact of my actions.


I won't lie, I'm a bit nervous about throwing all of the eggs into one basket with this ritual. If I fail, or if something is even the slightest bit wrong, I won't be around to fix the mess. I have a very real possibility of screwing things up royally. I'm almost considering letting someone into my confidence, just to take a tiny bit of the burden off my shoulders. Key word here is almost, considering that of the only two possible candidates one would kill me on sight and the other would call me an impertinent brat and slam the door in the face after disparaging my so-called father to get a rise out of me. The crux of this problem lies in the fact that there is no one else who would possibly be equipped to be of any use. Ah well, it would be pointless anyway, I can't get close to Sev without wanting to either bite his head off or shag him senseless. As for Tom, well, the whole “must-kill-boy-who-lived” angle is getting tedious, and I can't afford to use my reserves to nullify the killing curse. Guess it's just me and Sylvain, then. Wait, maybe I could get Dobby to swear to me, he wouldn't be much to talk to but at least he could take care of some of my more mundane tasks. The company would be welcome.



I had to read this entry twice, just to make sure that it wasn't some sleep-deprivation-induced hallucination. Then, in a moment of crystal-clear thought, all the pieces fell into place. As that happened, I fell to the floor. If Tom hadn't come by and poked me with his foot a few dozen times I would likely still be there.


I can honestly say that I never thought of Harry as more than a student, and a bothersome one at that. Perhaps, if we had met outside of school, and our ages were not so disparate, there would be a chance of me considering him in that light. Having read only the first portion of his distressingly thick journal, I have learned more about him than in all the years I had him as a student. I must wonder how much of his personality was Harry, and how much was Salazar, or whether there was any difference in the first place. I greatly respect his intelligence and wit, and even though I know that nothing could have happened while in the student/teacher dynamic, I can't help but wonder what type of man he would have grown into.


I have a distressing feeling that I would have found a kindred spirit in Harry, even as a student, but I was fool enough to let my past prejudices and hatred cloud my objectivity. I can't really believe that it was all mind-manipulation, to some extent we must have had free will. We had the planted information, as well as clues nudging us towards the desired reaction, but ultimately we all made the choice to do what we have done. He is more forgiving than I would have thought. It saddens me, in a way, that he spent his youthful fantasies on a washed-up, greasy old git rather than a fellow student that he might have had a chance with. Maybe it was better for him, after all he made it quite clear that he couldn't follow through with his desires because of his affliction. To lust after someone reachable would have made that torture even more acute. I can only hope that he's found some amount of peace now.


The sleep deprivation is starting to get to me, I think. It might just be an audio and visual hallucination, but I think that blasted crow is stalking me. Yesterday as I entered my potion's classroom to prepare things for the day's classes, I found a large black pin feather lying on top of some papers on my desk. I hope this is just a prank by someone who, somehow, found out about the forest incident. The alternative, that a bloody large crow managed to fly into Hogwarts, find its way into the dungeons, figure out which classroom is mine, land on my desk and shed one strategic feather, then escape with no one noticing it, is just preposterous. It is not helping that almost every time I walk by a window I swear I see a flash of black wings. Of course, no matter how quickly I turn, I never spot anything. This has got to end, I swear that I will go into the forest once more armed to bear, and come out with potion ingredients that still wear feathers. Of course, no one else notices anything off, and it is expected of ex-spies to have a residual amount of healthy paranoia after all. Bloody bird, if it is doing this with intent then it has to be one of the most annoying, troublesome, impertinent creatures ever to exist. The fact that I even consider that the bird has intent is enough to make me stop and wonder about my mental health. It's just a bird, after all, just a bird. A bird that will soon be a set of quills, if I have anything to say about it.