Riddled Truth

Warnings are in the first chapter! :)
Please review, it makes us authors feel better. Really, it does.

-=0=-

24 May, 1993

Something happened that morning that drove the Chamber of Secrets from their minds. In the Gryffindor common room, Professor McGonagall was waiting for them. Harry asked her if something was wrong, but she told him that it was nothing serious and that she’d wait to explain when everyone had made their way downstairs.

It took another fifteen minutes before everyone was awake and down in the common room; Harry figured that their Head of House had to escort them to breakfast anyway, so they’d be waiting whether the professor had something to tell them or not. When the remainder of the students joined the common room, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and promptly told them that their exams would start on the first of June. “One week from today,” she pointed out.

“Exams?” howled Seamus Finnigan. “We’re still getting exams?”

There was a loud bang behind Harry, as Neville Longbottom’s wand slipped from his grasp, vanishing one of the legs of a chair behind the sofa. Professor McGonagall restored it with a wave of her own wand and turned, frowning, to Seamus. “The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to receive your education,” she said sternly. “The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard.”

Studying hard was the last thing on Harry’s mind. It had never occurred to him that there would be exams with the castle in that state. There was a great deal of mutinous muttering around the room, which made the professor scowl even more darkly.

“Professor Dumbledore’s instructions were to keep the school running as normally as possible,” she said. “And that, I need hardly point out, means finding out how much you have learned this year.”

Harry looked down at his wand, thinking of what he learned that year. What had he learned that year? He couldn’t think of a single thing that would be useful in an exam.

Ron looked as though he’d just been told he had to go and live in the Forbidden Forest. “Can you imagine me taking exams with this?” he asked Harry, holding up his wand, which had just started whistling loudly.

-=0=-

Draco never went to bed that night; he had stayed awake, examining the orb. He had been to the Library before, to collect every book he could find that even mentioned it, but he found that the one book with most of the information was in a book in the Restricted Section about forbidden artifacts that were lost or reported to the Ministry of Magic. Many of the items were, in Draco’s professional, twelve-year-old opinion, of fable; some things he couldn’t believe were actually real.

But even the book he’d found in the Restricted Section had limited information on the orb. It has said much of what Riddle had told him, making Draco believe he had read the same book when he was in school. The book told him the Orb, known as the Verumabeo Orbis, was created by Merlin to be found by someone who knew how to control it.

Rumor had it that it had to be found by the bravest witch or wizard, shared by the loyalist, taught by the wisest, and used by the most cunning. The way Draco had diagramed it, complete on fourteen centimeters of parchment, Gryffindor found the orb, then gave it to Hufflepuff to spread equally around the four Founders. Ravenclaw determined what the orb could do and how powerful it was (which made sense with what Riddle said, that Ravenclaw was the only one who knew what it was for), and Slytherin would use it.

However, Draco didn’t believe Slytherin actually used the orb. If he had, he surely would have made Hogwarts accept only those of Pureblood. At least, that was what Draco would have done. He handled the orb in his hand now, turning it over in his fingers. It was a bit bigger than a Snitch; it fit in the palm of his hand, but he couldn’t completely wrap his fingers around it.

He knew the strength of the little ball, too. Though the book didn’t quite explain it as Riddle had, Draco understood the basic idea. Whatever anyone said, the biggest lie or the most docile, the orb would make it true. When Draco found out, he immediately knew he would not be giving the orb to the young Dark Lord. He would, instead, use the orb himself. He had a much better idea for it.

The only reason he hadn’t already used it was that he wasn’t sure how far the orb would go to make his lie the truth. And what if there were prerequisites that he had to accomplish before the orb worked? He hadn’t necessarily had a brave Gryffindor retrieve it for him, he hadn’t had a Hufflepuff distribute the power evenly, and hadn’t told a Ravenclaw to tell him what it did.

Draco just sort of skipped those steps.

Continuing to turn it over in his pale fingers, Draco began to hear his dorm mates wake to get ready for breakfast. It was Saturday, and as far as he knew, there was nothing to do but sit in the common room or go to the Great Hall. Scoffing at the idea, he shook his head and set the orb down on his pillow, then grabbed the golden plate that had been stuck with the black velvet case. There was strange writing on it; Draco could only assume they were directions.

The symbols weren’t in a language that he recognized. His father had taught him Latin when he was younger, and his Godfather, Snape, had showed him Runes before, but neither of them quite matched what was on the plate. The blond could only assume it was an even earlier language, back in the time of Merlin. No wonder Ravenclaw had to tell the others what it did, really.

“Malfoy,” said a voice outside of his drawn four-poster. Draco didn’t answer. “Malfoy, wake up, you have a collection of first years yearning for your attention,” said the voice. Draco recognized it as Marcus’ instantly; no one else had that sort of snarled drawl.

Finger-combing his hair back, Draco hid the orb back in its case, then stored it away secretly before pulling his bed curtains back. Flint was gone already, probably off with the Head Boy, leaving Draco room to get out and grab a Pepper-Up Potion from his trunk. There was little chance he’d last the rest of the day without it.

Draco was not eager to greet his audience, especially since he wasn’t sure what they wanted. But after washing up, gelling his hair in place, and making sure the orb was still sufficiently hidden, that was exactly what he did: went to the common room and confronted the other Slytherins, who were looking at him with mixed expressions.

“What are you looking at?” snapped the blond, who hadn’t yet drank the Pepper-Up Potion in his robes.

Those staring at Draco shifted a bit, looking at each other. He noticed it wasn’t only first years there, though; some third years were mixed in there, and he could see that Pansy Parkinson a few of her friends were near, looking in on what was going on.

“Is it true you’re going with Ginny Weasley?” asked a girl quickly. Draco noted that almost every face was turned toward him, waiting the answer.

He knew he sneered immediately after hearing the question, despite his better instinct to keep a blank face. “Are you all that idiotic? I didn’t take this many Slytherins to be morons,” Draco scoffed, walking past them, heading toward the portrait hole. Going anywhere was better than listening to that; he couldn’t believe any Slytherin would dare ask him such a question.

“But Draco,” interrupted Pansy, who had stood from the sofa when Draco began walking away. Said blond stopped and turned to look at her. “Everyone’s seen you with her, talking to her alone, even going up toward the Gryffindor’s common room,” said Pansy, who seemed almost wanting to whisper the information as if it had been a big secret.

Draco felt the need to hex them all. Instead, however, he smirked at them, which he thought would efficiently throw at least half of them off.

He was right.

“I have my reasons for going there,” said Draco mysteriously, leaving those in the common room to wonder. “But I’m not seeing Weasley, that’s absurd. Such a blood traitor would never be accepted by my family, never accepted as a match for me.”

Visibly, the common room relaxed. Draco scoffed minimally, but let them all go on about their own businesses to leave him room to do what he wanted. It was then that he decided to use the orb. He knew what he wanted to use it for, knew what he wanted to say, and the only thing stopping him was himself. The large part of the reason Draco had given Weasley the diary back was so that Riddle couldn’t tell him what to say to the orb; Draco knew it would be something evil.

Even he, a mere twelve year old, could see the problem behind a Halfblood ruling a world of Purebloods. Somehow, though, his father and his fellow Death Eaters didn’t understand.

Draco thought about that as he grabbed his box, hid it in his robes, and left the Slytherin Dungeons. If what the book had said about the orb was true, there was a chance that reality itself could be drastically changed by whatever he’d say into the orb. And if that were true, Draco wanted to be somewhere neutral when reality shifted.

Of course, there was also the possibility that the entire thing was null and void. After all, it had (to Draco’s or the book’s knowledge) never been used, and so therefore, any idea of what the orb actually did was a mere speculation. But the biggest part of Draco still wanted to try it.

Students were filling the Great Hall, and Draco was tempted to join them and eat. He had just planned against it when the Head Girl, from Ravenclaw, came down and ushered him inside, saying how he had no business beyond that point anyway. Draco sneered at her, but walked into the Great Hall anyway. Breakfast would start in a few minutes, and he could wait that long to use the orb. The idea of it, though, put his smirk back on his pink lips.

The Great Hall filled up quickly. Which was no surprise, really, considering there was nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. Draco yawned, looking up at the Head Table, where he saw Professor McGonagall looking a bit happier than she had in days. He looked at Snape, but of course he was the same: stony faced and sour-expression atop it.

When everyone was seated, Draco found out why McGonagall was wearing that smile. She had an announcement. “I have good news,” she said, and the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted.

“Dumbledore’s coming back!” several people yelled joyfully.

“You’ve caught the Heir of Slytherin!” squealed a girl at the Ravenclaw table.

“Quidditch matches are back on!” roared Wood excitedly.

When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said, “Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching culprit.”

There was an explosion of cheering. Draco had heard the news, of course, but his mind was still on his orb. He sneered at the loud Great Hall, catching Potter’s glance as he did. The male Weasley was talking to him, but it didn’t look like Potter began listening until a few sentences in, since he had been looking at Draco so intently.

As if Draco was going to stand up and declare his heritage of Slytherin blood. Really, Potter could be thick.

Just then, Ginny Weasley came over and sat down next to Ron. She looked tense and nervous; Draco could tell that Potter had noticed her odd behavior, shortly followed by her brother. She looked sickly and frightened. Draco tensed momentarily; he knew what she was going to try to do.

-=0=-

“What’s up?” Ron asked Ginny, helping himself to more porridge.

Ginny didn’t say anything, but glanced up and down the Gryffindor table with a scared look on her face that reminded Harry of someone, though he couldn’t think who.

“Spit it out,” said Ron, watching her cautiously.

Harry suddenly realized who Ginny looked like. She was rocking backward and forward slightly in her chair, exactly like Dobby did when he was teetering on the edge of revealing forbidden information. “I’ve got to tell you something,” Ginny mumbled, carefully not looking at Harry.

“What is it?” asked Harry immediately.

Ginny looked as though she couldn’t find the right words.

“What?” pressed Ron.

Ginny opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Harry leaned forward and spoke quietly, so that only Ginny and Ron could hear him. “Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?”

Ginny drew a deep breath and, at the precise moment, Percy Weasley appeared, looking tired and wan. “If you’ve finished eating, I’ll take that seat, Ginny. I’m starving; I’ve only just come off patrol duty.”

Ginny jumped up as though her chair had just been electrified, gave Percy a fleeting, frightened look, and scampered away. Percy sat down and grabbed a mug from the center of the table.

“Percy!” Ron exclaimed angrily. “She was just about to tell us something important!”

Halfway through a gulp of tea, Percy choked. “What sort of thing?” he asked, coughing.

“I just asked her if she’d seen anything odd, and she started to say –”

“Oh, -- that – that’s nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets,” said Percy at once.

Ron raised his eyebrows. “How do you know?”

“Well, er, if you must know, Ginny, er, walked in on me the other day when I was – well, never mind – the point is, she spotted me doing something and I, um, I asked her not to mention it to anybody…”

Ron might have been listening, but Harry had his eyes on a very suspicious pair leaving the Great Hall.

-=0=-

He cursed under his breath, waiting a few more moments to see what would happen. She couldn’t really tell them about Riddle’s diary, could she? Potter would immediately come looking for him; he wasn’t as daft as Draco liked to think, though the blond had a hard time admitting it.

Potter and Weasley were trying to get it out of her now. That was it; Draco had seen enough to endanger his security. The blond stood, making sure he still had the orb, and headed toward the doors to the Great Hall just as the eldest Weasley came in. Draco kept his eyes on Potter and the Weasleys, seeing Ginny jump from her seat when her brother asked to sit down.

By the angry look on the younger Weasley’s face, it didn’t seem that Ginny got to say what she wanted. But the older Weasley choked on his juice – no, no, Draco was simply looking too deeply into it. Before he turned his head to watch his way, he saw Potter eyeing him suspiciously.

Brilliant.

Draco diverted his gaze, walked out of the Great Hall, and didn’t look back until he was two flights up and around a corner. He moved himself as quickly as possible without raising suspicion, heading toward the abandoned classroom on the second floor. There, he used a slightly-dark unlocking spell, walked in, and shut the door behind him.

-=0=-

“Ron, Ron look,” Harry whispered, interrupting Ron’s angry, verbal attack on his brother. The redhead looked up, seeing Draco Malfoy’s retreating back headed left, toward the marble staircase. “He’s up to something; he got up right before Ginny did,” whispered Harry, Surely enough, Ginny turned left as well, after checking both ways like she was going to cross the street.

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table, seeing more than a couple people whispering and pointing toward the door. So they didn’t understand either. “What’s he doing with Ginny?” Ron asked Harry quietly so Percy didn’t hear. “You think—”

“Yeah,” Harry said hurriedly, standing from the table. “I think Malfoy didn’t tell anyone about his late-nights. Come on,” said Harry, leading Ron directly out of the Great Hall and into the corridors. Within the first flight of stairs, they saw a Prefect coming and hid behind a suit of armor, only coming out when the Prefect was a few meters down the hallway.

Looking around quickly, Ron and Harry darted down a side passage and hurried off, trying to find any glimpse of Malfoy’s or Ginny’s hair, at the least. A few more corners, and Harry saw Malfoy going into an unused classroom on the second floor. “Ron, there,” said Harry, pointing to the now closing door. Ron nodded, determined look on his face, and they both began sprinting toward the door.

But just as they were congratulating each other on their brilliant deduction, a familiar, stern voice came from behind. “Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?”

It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines. “We – we were –” Ron stammered. “We were going to – to go see –”

“Hermione,” said Harry. Ron and Professor McGonagall both looked at him. “We haven’t seen her for ages, Professor,” Harry went on hurriedly, treading on Ron’s foot, “and we thought we’d sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry –”

Professor McGonagall was still staring at him, and for a moment, Harry thought she was going to explode, but when she spoke, it was in a strangely croaky voice. “Of course,” she said, and Harry, amazed, saw a tear glistening in her beady eye. “Of course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been…yes, I quite understand. Go on, Potter, of course you may visit Miss Granger. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission.”

She walked away, and after she turned the corner, they could faintly hear Professor McGonagall blow her nose.

“That,” said Ron fervently, “was the best story you’ve ever come up with.”

Harry half-grinned for a second, before looking back where Malfoy’ had gone. “Ron, you go to the Infirmary. One of us has to, now, so our story pulls through. I’ll go and catch Malfoy.”

Ron looked back in the direction they’d seen Malfoy, too, before nodding and running off in the opposite direction. Harry, on the other hand, raced to the door he’d seen Malfoy walk into.

-=0=-

It was damp in the room, and slightly stuffy, but Draco didn’t pay attention. He walked to a dusty desk, Scourgified it, and set his box down afterward. Slowly he opened it, looked at the golden sphere laying innocently in its confines, and removed it in favor to hold it in his palm.

He took several deep breaths. Draco reviewed his line, wanting to say it perfectly, and got the nerve to be a Malfoy about it and have his family strength behind him. He was going to help everyone; make the world easier. He was sure there would still be the more ancient families, like the Malfoys and the Blacks, since families like the Weasleys existed; no money, millions of kids, and no name to look up to.

Yes, the world would still be balanced. Just a little more fair; there would be less reason for that type of rivalry.

Steeling his resolve, Draco squeezed the orb and closed his eyes, running the line over in his head repeatedly.

“Malfoy?”

Draco whipped around immediately, holding the orb tightly with his right hand. “Potter!” exclaimed the blond, sneering.

Harry looked at him oddly, from his sneering face to the golden sphere in his hands. “What are you doing? What’s that –”

“Be quiet, Potter, I’m busy,” said Malfoy quickly, saying the lines still in his head.

“It is you,” whispered Harry, who obviously took Draco’s orb for some device that controlled Slytherin’s monster. “You’ve been attacking the students! You’re going to release it!” he exclaimed, walking closer.

Draco noted that he’d drawn his wand when coming to his half-wit conclusions. “No, Potter. I’m doing the world a favor,” said Draco, smirking. Harry charged for him, a typical, half-brained move, but Draco was too quick. He yelled his sentence right before Harry hit him, knocking him to the ground heavily; the orb still tightly in his palm.

Every witch and wizard is of pure blood. 

-=0=-

Please review! I need stimulation! What will happen next?