The Head Boy's Secretary

Chapter Eighteen: The Silent Ghost


Lord Voldemort was alone in the baneful quiet of the Slytherin Common Room. It was three o’clock in the morning.

Covered in blood a figure hunched lugubriously in the dark. The figure was evanesced into near nothingness. It wallowed in self-pity. He did not reveal this part of himself during the day. The Bloody Baron put on the guise he was crafty, mean, even frightening. It was not exactly true.

Riddle knew it was a charade. He’d use this to get something out of the Baron.

It was the perfect time.

The Baron had not noticed the Head Boy’s approach from across the room. In grief the ghost clanked his chains loudly. Slytherins heard it near every night.

“Baron! I am the Head Boy of Hogwarts. Will you not speak with me?”

This was not going to get the Bloody Baron to open up. If alive, he’d buy this bloke a drink.

“I know of the woman that you smote with your sword. Will you not speak with me on her behalf?”

The Bloody Baron raised his head. Riddle recently read up on the Founders in his battered copy of ‘Hogwarts: A History.’

“So you know the whole sorry tale. What do you want with my Helena?”

Riddle pretended to return interest, his face becoming animated. “When Helena ventured out of England,” said he, acting enthused. “There was something she took with her. Whatever it was, it was stolen from her mother. Rowena Ravenclaw.”

The Bloody Baron’s face did not change. It was obvious he had not known this tidbit whilst living. Internally, Riddle was disappointed not to get the information off the Baron.

“I knew nothing of the sort. I found Helena – in a forest, hundreds of miles from England. I don’t remember where I was… "

The Bloody Baron shook tremulously with the horrible memory of killing his lover in an uncontrollable rage and afterwards murdering himself. Riddle leaned in closer and silently took in the newest shred of information. A forest. He must find where that forest was to get to Ravenclaw’s heirloom!

“But how will she admit where the thing’s hidden?”

“What thing?” said the Baron dully.

“The antique the girl stole from her mother,” snarled Riddle.

“Oh…”said the Baron carelessly. The bloodstains shone silvery in the darkness. “I don’t know…” he bleated. “She favours kind hearted men of noble stock. If you have the daring and the nerve to speak to her - You must be a gentleman.”

“I certainly will.”

“We have not spoken for over a thousand years…”

Riddle was hardly listening. He’d already heard that they hadn’t conversed in a thousand years, according to Nearly Headless Nick. There wasn’t much more the Baron could do to help. Other than provide tips to charm the Grey Lady.

“I’ve worn these chains as penitence for my crime. I killed her, …and yet I loved her. In a blind rage I could not stop myself. She spurned me. I pursued that woman but failed to get her in the end!”

“Love,” spat Voldemort cynically. His young eyes glittered. “Not love! Lust. You desired her and she refused. It’s natural, you would kill after rejection!”

“Ohh…Hell-en-a! I loved you!” the Baron whimpered. “HELL–EN– A!”

Riddle did not answer. He hardly understood why the Baron loved such a faithless, untrustworthy woman. The Baron rattled his chains in remorse and screamed his former lover’s name in shrills of agonizing guilt. The Baron felt remorse for his crimes. It was ironically the opposite with Riddle. There would never be a shred of remorse for his own wrongdoings, which far outweighed the Baron’s mere foibles.

But the Head Boy was onto a goal. Seek out Helena known now as the Grey Lady, the frequent haunt of Ravenclaw tower.


***


On another day not long after, it was broad daylight when the Head Boy found the Grey Lady in solitude at a sparsely populated corridor by the library.

“I thought I might have a word with you,” said Riddle softly.

In the sunlight pouring from the window the ghost shone, luminescent. Despite this the face had not lit up with interest. She gazed out the window with a haughty expression. Yet Helena's expression was framed by a hood, concealing wisps of hair, and the effect of the hood made her appear less reproachful.

“There is no reason to talk,” reproved the Grey Lady stiffly. "I don't speak with Slytherins. Hardly do I speak with my own Ravenclaws. So why would I bother with you?"

"Power," said Riddle automatically. He regained his bearings, and explained. He didn't show it, but the confidence in charming this one wavered . "I have achieved greatness."

The Grey Lady glanced intuitively towards the chest and wasn't surprised to find a badge there. She glided closer and murmured, "Head Boy....Hmmm..."

"Greatness has vested me with power. I am afterall the Head Boy. Tom Riddle. My greatness has made others jealous. My powers, my greatness has made me enemies."

It was a hard case even with the best persuasion. But he stepped up to the plate anyway, taking deliberate steps.

Out of nowhere, Riddle changed the subject. It caught the Grey Lady off guard. "Just the other night, I spoke with the Bloody Baron."

The Grey Lady instantly became hysterical. "The Baron! What did you want with him Mr. Riddle? I will never speak to that man again. Not for all eternity!"

Riddle laughed lightheartedly. He invaded the ghost's space, standing right in front. It was an impressive stance, feet rooted firmly to the ground, unlike the ghost's. Helena died young. Even in death she was still a breath-taking beauty. Her radiance was nearly mystical. Riddle felt himself strangely attracted. This was a worthy witch of noble, Pureblood lineage.

The air was ice-cold being so close and yet the young man was unperturbed. Riddle did not even shiver.

The Grey Lady restored composure, quite embarrassed at the outburst.

Riddle saw his opportunity. The Grey Lady was so much better than modern girls. Tenth century women knew when to talk and when to be silent and let men take the initiative.

"Daughter of Ravenclaw...I am a student here at Hogwarts. I was promoted from Prefect to Head Boy. An entire list of accomplishments goes to my name. The highest marks in my class, special awards for services to the school, and more. However, all my childhood I faced hardship and loss. I grew up an orphan, you see. I never knew my family..."

The Grey Lady had been watching the handsome young man with a testy expression before. But suddenly changed to a pitying glance. Pity was exactly what Riddle needed.

"I didn't know I was special until I was eleven years old. As I said, I was raised by muggles! I grew up with everyone loathing me. Nobody understood me and nobody valued my gifts...."

Riddle was merely saying this. It was not that he cared what those muggles thought.

He painted himself as a victim. In truth, his end involved victims for the act that would encase his soul in the diadem, of which he sought.

The Grey Lady showed a rare smile. "I know what it's like not to be appreciated for your talents. As Daughter of Ravenclaw, I was overshadowed by my mother! You are a good fellow, Mr. Riddle and a very polite boy. Perhaps I shall explain."

"Go on, please," said Riddle nicely.

"I was always a very intellectual young woman, you see..." The Grey Lady twisted a lock of hair with a thin finger. "But in my time, women were hardly allowed to be literate. We were told we shouldn't be reading at all. Hogwarts was virtually the only refuge. Men and only men ruled the world."

Riddle nodded understandingly. His face became emotional, a mask of concern.

"I disagreed. I had a desperate desire to be the wisest, the cleverest smartest witch there ever was! I was jealous of mother who had all the respect as a Founder...."

The Grey Lady was blind to seeing it by now. This young man had gained her confidence.

Hatred towards women stirred in him again. Riddle narrowed his eyes and frowned. The envious Helena who coveted knowledge reminded him of the myth of Adam and Eve, something recently discussed with the Secretary. Oh, how he hated women like this! Most of all he'd never forgive his mother for dying in refusal to live.

Riddle grew thoughtful and quiet and of course did not discuss the sudden feeling of hatred for this clever, untrustworthy woman.

"The Founders," reflected he. In an instant Riddle realized what a loss it was not to have reached out to the ghosts until now. Why did he wait so long, over seven years to speak to the Grey Lady? She must have known his ancestor.

"What about Salazar Slytherin?" Riddle blurted out greedily, almost impulsive. He was willing to hear anything at all on his ancestor. A pang of jealousy. This woman had known the great Wizard, Slytherin and he had not. Who was she to have been graced with his presence?

At the mention of the ambitious, cunning Founder who had worked alongside her mother, Rowena, Helena grew strangely quiet.

The Daughter of Ravenclaw tittered nervously, like a mouse caught in a trap. She was caught in Riddle's trap really. She felt compelled to confess.

"I-I...I do need to tell someone. I have kept it a secret much too long!"

The Grey Lady wrung her hands in distress.

Riddle leaned in closer, trying to conceal overwhelming eagerness. He gazed straight into her eyes, "What secret?"

"Slytherin told me to do it! He was the one that suggested I steal it. He probably wanted to eventually gain the diadem himself. He used me as a tool to get to my mother like so many had before!"

The Grey Lady looked exhausted at getting this off her chest. Riddle pressed again repeating, "Slytherin told you to do it, and you abided by his word?"

And nastily Riddle was reminded again of the muggle Bible and Adam and Eve. 'Eve took the apple because in her wisdom she was smarter than Adam', he thought sarcastically. No! Eve took from the tree because the Serpent told her to! It was just the same with these Ravenclaw witches. All women strived towards obedience, there only virtue, all else was their vice. Whether diadem or apple the deed was done because a man told them to. All women were the same.

"Yes," the Daughter of Ravenclaw answered Riddle's query. She tried to justify her actions. "It was an attempt to even the playing field. I wanted to be better than her! So I stole the Diadem. Today it is known exclusively as the Diadem of Ravenclaw. Supposedly it imparts wisdom onto the one who wears it....Do you think that's true?"

"I don't know," said Riddle quietly. He was being honest. He didn't know what magical powers the object possessed. Not until he'd found it and tested it himself.

Riddle evaded the question and equivocated from offering opinion. "Well...What do you think, My Lady?"

Helena would have blushed if alive. The bloodless cheekbones swelled. It was flattering that he'd asked for her opinion. "I believe it's a myth. My mother lied! She made the people believe she had special wisdom or powers that other Witches and Wizards couldn't grasp. It was all just a hoax. The crown wasn't really magical!"

Riddle paused in thought and hoped the idea that the crown was nothing special wasn't true. Helena was still stewing with jealous fury. Riddle did not believe it wasn't magic. It was a revered, significant historical object, the ideal thing to become a Horcrux.

The Grey Lady gazed at him, feeling most flattered that he'd ask her opinion. Experience showed her that men weren't like that. Most men when she'd been living had not cared to have any intellectual discussions with a woman, nor hear any of her thoughts no matter how intelligent the Daughter of Ravenclaw was.

Riddle sympathetically put a hand on her shoulder. It was like plunging into a vat of ice-cold water. But they had come to the crucial moment. Riddle waited. She was about to give it up. She was about to tell him all about where the diadem was.

He need not do anything. The work had been done. He had a power over her, he'd beguiled her successfully.

"I traveled far and wide to a distant forest in Albania. I hid the tiara in a hollow tree where none would ever find it. But then - my suiter found me. My mother was deathly ill and it was her dying wish I return. He was sent to hunt me down. The Baron was as good a tracker as a bloodhound. Soon enough I was discovered. The Baron intended I be married to him...He killed me when I refused to return to England!"

The Grey Lady shook convulsively, at the remembrance of the traumatic death. The tall witch held her chest and sobbed. A dress covered the wound where the Baron delivered the fatal blow to her bosom.

Riddle traced her cheeks with his long fingers and whispered, "You didn't deserve to die like that, Helena. I can tell you that much."

The Grey Lady sniffled, and her eyes shone. Tear production was impossible as a ghost. "I can see now you're not like the others, Tom. Over the centuries many badgered me to tell them all I knew about the diadem! But you did not! You're not like the others!"

She bawled piteously.

Riddle answered mysteriously, "No, I'm not. I'm unlike anybody else," and he truly believed that.

The others had asked for the diadem's location. But he'd just wheedled it out without even asking directly!

"And now, I suppose you're going to leave me. And soon enough, I shall not see you ever again. And then like all the others you will die, and I will remain stuck here forever."

"No," simpered Riddle. "I shall never leave this place forever," he whispered mysteriously because he knew that thanks to Dark Magic he would never die. Ironic, she would say that, given his Horcruxes bestowed immortality.

The Grey Lady looked confused at this strange, nonsensical pronouncement but said nothing.

"I shall return to Hogwarts one day." That wouldn't be until the whole world knew him as Lord Voldemort, and by then Miss Ravenclaw would despise him.

"Good day young man...Thank-you for listening."

"You are most welcome," said Riddle affectionately.

The Grey Lady inclined her face upwards, eyes wide with need and longing. Riddle saw that longing desire and knew she was just like all the other women. Attracted to his good looks, taken in by the charm! She'd been easy and weak.

For good measure, he leaned in and pressed his lips to the cold, lifeless ones.

Helena's cheeks bulged more than ever, but no rouge colored them.
Tom Riddle, the living Head Boy had actually kissed her!

"Come to me when you need a living person's input. It would be my pleasure!"

And in some sense Voldemort did feel indebted to her for indirect assistance.

"Oh! You are sweet!" she complimented.

Gently, Riddle extricated his hands that clasped her etheric bosom.

Hiccupping back a sob, Helena relented. With a final, entreating glance she floated reluctantly down the corridor.

Alice Whitman had always liked the Grey Lady for the golden silence she emanated. That was the way women should be. Mostly silent, except when a man bade them speak. But the Grey Lady had proven with that story not to be as demure as appeared to be, but rather headstrong. And yet the Head Boy still managed to charm the story out of her.

The ghost disappeared through the walls. Alone now, he was positively panting with greed, mouth parted.

The Head Boy already knew for some time he was the Heir of Slytherin. Therefore he was the only inheritor of Hogwarts left, as last remaining descendant to Slytherin. Helena Ravenclaw had much more in common with him than she knew.

Soon he would possess all of this property, the entire grounds of the castle would be his. He'd retrieve the diadem from Albania after graduating and bring it back when it was made into a Horcrux.


NOTE: I am weaving this into the plot. Alice will meddle with this in a later chapter. Alice is a Ravenclaw and is not too happy when she realizes what Riddle is doing with the diadem!