Tears of a Basilisk

Journal entry the fourteenth.


Last night was phenomenal. I'm not even sure I can describe how honoured I was to meet David, let alone climb up on stage with him and deliver one of the most memorable performances that the club will ever bear witness to. For the first time in a long, long time I actually felt alive, vibrantly so even.


Well, let's see, I left off my previous entry before covering the infamous prophesy that is one of the reasons that my life was turned into a living hell for much of it. That does seem like a logical starting point for this round of venting, after all it has to be one of the most elaborate yet hidden tricks ever pulled in the wizarding world. First, let me state that the prophesy is pure drivel. Completely, utterly, entirely false. If it was entered in some type of fiction contest, it would likely win hands down for most outrageous plot twist.


Think about it for a second, my dear reader. According to the official version of events, the damning words were spouted from the crackpot Trelawney, whom I wouldn't trust to see a car heading right towards her, with only the dear head of the laughable Order as a witness. I apparently was the only person to find this highly suspicious, since I was fully aware of the levels of deception Dumbles could reach and no one else shared this view. I'm not sure what the thought he was gaining by trying to keep knowledge of a false prophesy from me. Maybe he thought I would cave in to his demands to learn the answer. Dumbles may have been a clever opponent, but he had a nasty habit of underestimating the resources of his opponents. The portraits were more than happy to pass along information, and I actually spent a few days in Dumbles' office watching him while completely imperceptible. I never really needed the invisibility cloak, not with all the lost and arcane spells I know, and in many cases wrote.


I wish that, in order to maintain the facade, I didn't have to bring along those children with me to the Department. It was rather frustrating to be among all those artifacts that, in all probability, only I knew how to use anymore and not being able to go after them. It couldn't be helped, I guess, but at least I didn't have to take them on my second trip, where I fulfilled that particular desire. One would think that security for a bunch of extremely powerful and mysterious items would be stronger than that of a public library, but that was not the case. As a result, I managed to walk out with many important and powerful artifacts that have proved invaluable as of late. For a brief moment, I almost looked around to see where Godric and the girls were, it was that much like old times. We were a merry band of rogues, long ago.


Right now I am tempted to advance with one aspect of my plan ahead of schedule, I've been inspired by this entry. In my humble opinion, and for the good of Hogwarts, the Order of the Phoenix must become defunct. The members, whether they are being controlled by the Coot or are just naturally incompetent, are doing far much more harm than good. I know, they intend to come to the aid of any “good” witch or wizard that needs their help. With all their intentions, they have not only paved a road to hell but turned it into a huge overpass. As it is, I already have plans in motion to disband the Death Eaters, and even if they weren't a bunch of foolish well-wishers I would still enact the demise of the Order just for the sake of balance. If one force were to exist without the other to counter it, the consequences would be horrific. Weird of me to care about the fate of the wizarding world in this way, but I only consider the effects on the families of our students. That's it. Everyone else can hop on that overpass with the rest of the fools and have a merry one-way trip. It is not my place to say what grown humans do with their world, but I will do whatever it takes to protect those that aren't able to protect themselves. It is the responsibility of those with the power to do so to protect the young however they can. Usually I can't help but wish that there was a test that adults needed to pass in order to bear young, other than the practical of course.


This may sound weird, but in a sick way I was looking forward to returning to Privet Drive for the summer. A strange thing to say, I know, but it would be my final time, so I could really cut loose on their pathetic hides. At the end of my fifth year, after the prophesy fiasco, I knew, in a primal way, that I wouldn't make it all the way through my sixth year. It's one thing to know you're going to die, it's a much different sensation to have an idea as to when. It's very liberating, actually. For the first time, I can drop most of my masks and not worry about repercussions. I can say what I want, within reason, and not worry about pissing off people that I soon won't see anymore. Ironic, I can start to truly live when death is upon me. But hey, I'll have a bit of fun along the way. I must say the look on Vernon's face whenever I would spring one of my little surprises put a large smile on my face. He did have a use, I will give him that. Several parts that he will likely miss terribly but can exist without were very useful as potions ingredients. Gave me a real pleasure to harvest certain parts of his anatomy in particular. I think the only thing that scared him more than me using sharp tools near those bits was the fact that I was singing a lively Gilbert & Sullivan tune while doing so. It's not my fault they are uncultured swine.


I have yet to enact the plans I have designed for my aunt and cousin, who are not in actuality blood relations of mine. Lily Evans was adopted, a fact that has been glossed over, and comes from a long line of squibs from a famous lineage. Ah, if the current head of that family only knew that they were my cousin, there would be fireworks. Oh, wicked idea yet again. I'm currently finishing the time-delay spells on my journal and a couple other things, I think I'll compose a separate letter and cue it to appear to my long-lost cousin as soon as this sentence is read by another party for the first time. I love magic, I really do. Makes for some interesting practical jokes. I would like to imagine that, a few minutes after the letter appears, whomever is reading this will hear a earth-shattering shriek, coupled by a loud thunk sound made by my cousin fainting in shock. Oh, I can add a spell so that, when that happens, little bluebirds and stars will circle his head. Aaaand I think I need to stop watching so many cartoons, an influence is showing. If I start buying things from the Acme Co. or grow a mustache just to twirl it ominously, I'll just jump off the tower. The thought does make me giggle though.


I think I'm going to retire for the night, I have a long weekend planned, and I will likely need every ounce of strength I can muster, but after this weekend, should everything go to plan, I can relax for a while. After all, what I'm attempting hasn't, in recorded or unwritten history, ever been successfully performed. I always do best when the odds are against me, though. Since when have the rules ever applied to one such as I, anyway. My very existence is something of a fluke, a meshing of bloods that have never before or since combined to such a degree. For a near impossible creature, anything can happen. All I have to do is have faith in myself, even if no one else does, and things won't go pear-shaped quite yet.


I think I'm writing this just to stall, there's an ingredient that I need to collect, but the thought gives me the willies. Seriously, the person who first concocted this part of the rite must have been one sick, twisted, depraved individual. Still, must be done, so off to the nearest brothel. I hate brothels, as do most creatures with a halfway decent sense of smell. Ick. All those bodies rutting, most with only the barest concept of hygiene. At least there will be quite a few confused naked people running around town at the end of the night. That will give me a bit of good cheer. No, I do not need those clothes for my rite, I just feel the need to prank some perverts. The few clothes I leave behind will probably be laced with good old-fashioned muggle itching powder, or that lovely muscle rub that goes on cold but heats up almost unbearably. Oh yes, that sounds fun. There's a brothel near the club, I think I'll use that one so I can see the end results. Well, off I go.


Well, tonight has been interesting so far. Before I started with my nightly reading, I decided that it would be good to have some company in case any revelations prove too much for me to handle, at least without copious amounts of firewhiskey. So I was, and still am for that matter, in my quarters with Tom sitting across from me, my godson Draco sprawled out on my couch, and that blasted crow sitting on my shoulder, giving every indication that it is reading over my shoulder, impossible as that sounds. Nothing is impossible with that bloody bird it seems.


True to his word, a letter did manifest after reading that particular part of the entry. Imagine all of our surprise when it appeared right in Draco's lap with a quiet pop. Of course, when receiving a letter addressed to oneself the first instinct is to open it and read the contents. I checked the Slytherin tree to see if clairvoyance is a blood gift that Harry possessed (he didn't), because oddly enough what he predicted would happen was exactly how events played out. I will confess that my first reaction after seeing the cartoon birds and stars appear was to get a camera I confiscated earlier from a Creevey and take a picture. It isn't often that the head of the illustrious Malfoy line falls into a very undignified faint coupled with cartoon birds flying and occasionally pecking at his head. To add to the elements of classic physical comedy already present, the bird (which I swear was laughing) decides to hop over to Draco and stand on his prone chest, staring at his face and holding perfectly still. When Draco eventually came out of his faint, the first thing he saw was a larger-than-normal crow staring just inches from his face. In all my years of knowing Draco and helping take care of him, I never knew that he could hit such a high note, even screaming.


By this point I had given up on the entry for the moment and was laughing so hard that my sides are still hurting. Even Tom joined in, laughing so hard that he had to pause and gasp for air. I swear that that crow, despite the notable handicap of not having lips, had a large, evil smirk on its face. I now understand why people have been laughing when I have been its target, it is bloody hilarious to watch someone get cut down to size by a supposedly inferior creature. That doesn't mean that I will let them get away with laughing at my person, certainly not.


After I had finished with it for the night, I passed the journal over to Tom. He has as much a right, if not more, to know its contents. As perplexing as the information regarding the verity of the prophesy is, I find myself straying to wonder what it was exactly he needed to get from the brothel. On one hand, the thought is tantalizing me, and on the other I think that I really don't want to know. Just from what I've learned about this side of his nature, I think that the Weasley twins would worship him as their idol. I had no idea that this prankster side of him existed, and I must wonder now if the Weasleys were in fact responsible for every major prank that occurred during their stay here or if they were just claiming responsibility on the orders of another.


Before I settled down to write my contribution to this effort, I popped in Harry's CD, for Tom and I to hear for the first time. His voice is amazing, it truly is. So expressive and heartfelt, he must have used the performances as a form of release. Draco informed us that there is a bootleg DVD of a live performance floating around, and that he was currently looking for it. If he manages to find it, I would love to witness his show. Even though my own musical preference does not usually mesh well with the songs he chose, I find myself pulled into the performance. The two original songs are sung in a strange, but beautiful language that I imagine to be ancient Gaelic, but could be something completely different. Translations are printed in the cover book, but the song itself is so well-done that the listener doesn't really need the translation to feel what he is trying to express. For a man with so many masks and personas, he is remarkably real when on stage it seems.


Draco offered to show us memories of the shows he went to via pensieve, and I think we will take him up on it. Not tonight, of course, we are all far too drunk to want to do more than enjoy the music and sleep. Thank Merlin for whomever invented the hangover potion, and I am very glad that I brewed a bit extra earlier. I think I should retire for the night, at least from this. Who knows, I might be able to get a decent night's sleep even with the blasted bird in the room, who is at this moment starting to drink from my glass of whiskey. Good, serves it right, because I will certainly not leave any hangover potion out with bird access. Maybe that will teach it a lesson. Can birds even get hangovers? Guess we'll find out in the morning.