The Head Boy's Secretary

I think this is a spectacular, spooky chapter! This story has actually begun to frighten me!


Chapter Eleven: The Blood of True Believers


It was the ugliest feminine trinket ever devised by wizard-kind. This thing was Riddle’s possession, and proof positive of gained dominion over the body of the girl.

With delicate affection he fondled the artificial clitoris. It was his treasure, a crude representation of his hatred for her. It was safe in a box for now.

His fingertips dug into the tiny nub of flesh. A cocoon of blood surrounded it. The blood of her menses. This had been the first bloodshed of her very first period.

Riddle took it out and examined it closely, holding it to the light of his gas lamp on the desk. His nostrils flared and he grinned impishly. It was ripe he saw. Time to plant the seed of destruction!

His eyes drifted back to secret studies. A book with the cover set in gothic curlicues, ‘A Sorcerer’s Dismemberment’. One would think that concerned Miss Alice too, but no, it did not.

“My Lord and Master! I must speak with you!”

The young man put away his vulgar perversity, tucked away safe, nestled in a box. Then he shut the desk drawer, entombing the box in his desk.

The person outside the study rapped urgently on the door.

Hastily Riddle wiped his hands with his napkin. He brushed his hands together, removing the last trace of blood. It was for purity. He always tried to appear pure and cleansed even to his followers. As if nothing, not a stain or “sin” for want of a better word could taint their master.

But they all knew differently from actual experience. It was a tacit understanding that existed between the minions: he fucked them, and used them but they knew to act like he was above cravings for release. Somehow Lord Voldemort always was above, but also so below. For as above, so below. As cult leader, he was everywhere, the image and idea of omniscience.

The young man rose.

He put on a different face for the interaction that lay beyond the door. Quickly, he forgot the gruesome plans concerning the Secretary.

“They won’t listen!” the boy named Avery prattled, speaking to Riddle. “They’re fighting for credit. It’s a fight over territory, I think. They don’t realize that this could ruin our plans!”

“It had better not happen.”

Riddle walked arm-in-arm with his follower.

Down the cloisters they strode. Since it had been uninhabited for centuries it’s disarray had built up to feeling lifeless. Unlike the official Hogwarts cloister outside near the courtyards, this one had no plants, and no windows to let the sun in.

Two scholarly looking students had a bone to pick with each other. They had both looked formidable adversaries in their own right, locked in argument and both twitching towards their wands. But at the sight of their master they blanched.

One hailed him, “My Lord!”

The both of them gave a practiced bow his way.

Riddle stopped in front of them. The other boy who relayed news of the fight shrank away instinctively, as if to say he had played no part in the row.

Coolly Riddle asked, “What seems to be the problem, my boys?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” said one of them. He stamped his foot.

“I do,” said the other. “Of course I do!” And this one looked towards his gang leader, his one and only master. For he knew secrecy was never permitted.

“Problem is my Lord…,” he said chewing thoughtfully on his tongue, searching for a way to explain it best, without incriminating himself. “Young Black doesn’t think he can handle the stuff we get up to ‘round Hogwarts. I guess he’s not up to it!”

The boy seethed, “I didn’t say I couldn’t handle it. I said – I said…” Young Black suddenly seemed to lose his nerve. His anger dissipated. He looked like he might cry. He was really just a little boy - twelve years going on thirteen - a little boy who had been swept up in his older brother's and cousin's beliefs. In January, last month he was initiated into the Dark Order. He was still trying to prove himself - and the only way to do that was to mold himself into a new identity....

Riddle invaded his space, and intervened, walking closer. He smiled at Black, “What did you say?”

Young Alphard Black looked up at the Head Boy. He saw a smile there, a smile that said, “trust me.”

“My ancestors came to this place at the time of the founders. They made the noble house of Black rich. It was because of them…,” Alphard became pretentious and expounded on his polemic opinion. “I’m sure neither my ancestors nor the founders would approve of vandalizing the school.”

Two of the other boys gasped. The boy named Avery in the shadows stepped further away. He looked towards Riddle, his facial expression a rigid frown. His body as still as a statue. Avery was full of a strange solemn, watchfulness. He was terrified of being accused for picking a fight, paranoid. But Riddle was paying Avery no attention.

"We do not vandalize. I have great respect for Hogwarts. For it's teachings and it's traditions," and he insinuated, "“Why Alphard, who are you to know what the founders would think of us? Who is anybody to know what may or may not be. Think what the founders and your descendants might say if they could see you now! They would be proud that you have joined me! Proud!”

Alphard stared into Riddle’s dark eyes almost mindlessly. “Yes, My Lord. I didn’t realize….” And Alphard Black looked ashamed and unsure now.

“Most of the Dark Order is made up of the Purebloods. I have told you,” said Riddle. He elaborated, “You will comply…Or I can arrange us to punish you…It would be for your own good.”

Riddle looked towards the other boy called Lestrange slyly. Alphard saw the look and could not bear the thought of this fellow member getting to punish him!

Just then Alice arrived down a parallel passage, in which each were separated by gates and chasms. She had come early today. She stopped in her tracks and listened with bated breath. She dare not move. She stood there, casting a long unseen shadow.

She had not heard anything of the conversation yet, except for low mumbles as she came closer. It had echoed all the way throughout the maze of corridors in the ancient cloisters of the Restricted Section.

Alphard was trembling under Riddle’s gaze. “That won’t be necessary, Master. Forever indebted as your obedient servant, am I. It will never happen again.”

Riddle nodded slowly approvingly. All of that was unsaid stuff. It was things they learned to espouse without hesitation. Alice remained eavesdropping, leaning up against a pillar and pressing her hot cheek against the cool wall. And on the other side of the wall was her master, the Head Boy talking…But to whom?

“Next time we meet I shall reward the both of you then. You will each receive the same lot….”

Alice could sense the dialogue was closing. There was a wrought-iron gate nearby. Her heart pounded at the thought of Riddle going through it. He would see her and she’d be in so much trouble!

The other boy glared at Alphard looking greedy, mad he would receive something of paramount value to Black.

Riddle paused, considering what reward he would use to entice his followers. There were many pleasures used to keep them. Some followers enjoyed certain victims to torment, others sex with him, in which it was made clear how worthy they were….Still others got gifts usually revolving around the Dark Arts or galleons or a trivial favour like help in their classes.

The other still looked greedy and resentful. “You should make him fall on his knees and confess the treacherous thoughts I know he harbors! Let him beg for your punishment, My Lord!…Or I can punish him for you, right here.”

“No. Today Alphard has already learned his lesson. There will only be reward!”

Alice chanced a look, curious for this youth named Alphard, someone that Riddle could decide to punish. She couldn’t see the face though, as his hood was in the way.

“If you must – Oh bloody hell!” groused the follower called Lestrange.

Alphard looked timidly at the Head Boy. “Since I got off…Thank-you…May I go?”

Riddle nodded.

Alice watched with a swift bow as the three departed, Alphard and Avery followed in Lestrange’s wake.

Riddle who had prodigious, alarmingly good instincts sensed someone was lurking about. His hand pressed to the gate.

Alice’s knees weakened at the thought of being punished for spying on him. But she wanted to know who the messages were addressed to. It must be a group of boys, for the voices had sounded so young. Hogwarts students of course!

And the Head Boy heard nothing. His suspicions were lowered.

So Riddle chose not to pass through the gate. Instead, he swept off down the hall that led to his study. He was glad to have held council and settled that dispute. He always manipulated them and managed to prevent too much in-fighting and un-called for duels.

And Alice realized they had not talked in code but plain English. For of course they had believed they were alone in a very private space. However, she had an inkling of an idea of what those messages were about….Tom Riddle was clearly the leader of a gang.

Alice waited until it was safe; listening to the Head Boy’s slow, stolid footsteps echo. And then the thud of the door to his study swung closed with a loud creak of old hinges.