Tears of a Basilisk

Journal entry the seventh

Have I been accurate with my predictions regarding your actions, my dear reader? I would like to think so, otherwise I severely overestimated my observation skills. Let me continue the trend, at the very least it will provide me some amusement. I will hazard a guess that right after you read my last entry, an impromptu excursion was made to the Chamber by most of the faculty members, and maybe a few other involved parties. Tom will have then smeared a bit of blood on the wall, and after the light show the tree was revealed in all of its intricate, almost impossible to read glory. Likely, the first name most looked for was my current one. I'm sure several jaws dropped when they saw the list of blood gifts under my name. Imagining the look on their faces, however, when they see exactly how I fit into the bloodline, puts a huge grin on my face. Hell, there are probably people still down there trying to decipher the human bloodlines, and maybe even the magical creature bloodlines. It will certainly provide a diversion for many a rainy day, I think. I wonder if they will figure out what the different name colours are for. Should I be a good boy and let everyone in on the secret? Hmmm, nope. Not yet at least. Let them twist in the wind a bit first. Of the people who would be able to figure it out, I think only Tom and Sev will be able to.


In the interest of trying to maintain a sense of continuity, let me continue with my breakdown of my fourth year and move on to the third task. In many magical creature circles, the Tri-Wizard maze is still spoken of with dread and fear, much like the You-Know-Who nonsense. Seriously, what the hell? Ack, before I delve into that rant, let's move on shall we?


In the early days of the tournament, the officials would often round up various, usually unwilling dangerous creatures and place them, stunned at first, at various places in the maze. Their job was to, once again, weed out the weak. It sounds like the creatures would love it, they just sit in one place, human comes along, crunch, slurp, lunch is served. Not quite, unfortunately. Near the creatures the officials would place objects or artifacts that contain the creature's greatest weakness, and would give the contestants clues as to their exact location. When the contestant comes along, if they find the item or items then the tables would be completely turned. Now the creature is more or less captive thanks to several strategic wards, faced with a human that has the ability to permanently cripple, or even kill them without breaking a sweat. For example, if a vampire was placed in the maze then the area would be littered with holy water, wooden stakes, and occasionally captured sunlight. To be caught and sent to the maze was quite often a death sentence. They did change that rule, simply because creatures became harder to get, replacing them with spells. If anything, the modified maze is deadlier than the original, because there are no clues or helpful items anymore.


After I passed the ritual along to Voldie, I kept wondering when his bumbling henchmen would be able to pull it off. A huge sigh of relief washed over me when the faux-Moody pointed me in the proper direction at the beginning of the challenge. This, to me, indicated that he wanted me to separate from the group and get to the cup first. The only possible reason I could figure would be an abduction, which they would need to perform the ritual. Finally, things were going to get real interesting. This would be my first overt attack, and I would judge it successful.


The only factor I didn't account for was Cedric lunging for the cup at the same time as I. No, I did not ask him to grab the cup with me as I told the wizarding public, that was an outright lie on my part. He had the longer reach, despite the fact that I lunged for it first, so he was dragged along via portkey to the graveyard. I must admit, I found the choice of setting both highly cliché and very appropriate. When we arrived, I was immediately tied up and he was left on the ground, disoriented. His death went much as the official version states, really not much to add there. I don't feel bad or responsible for his death, he made his choice when he tried to shove me out of the way to get to the cup first. Glory and fame blinded him, I suppose.


Well, the ritual went almost exactly as I thought it would. Part of me had hoped that restoring his body would restore his mind as well, but unfortunately Voldie was still in the driver's seat with Tom tied up in the trunk. So I play-acted with him, had a laughable duel, pretended to be the bloody BWL for the death eaters that showed up, and port-keyed out of there with Cedric's body. If only those fashion victims had not shown up, I could have possibly had a more meaningful encounter with my relation without death threats on either end. I should have transfigured all their robes into costumes from Star Wars. Lucius would look especially stunning as C3-PO, I think. Once again, another wasted reference. What the hell, it's my journal after all, I'll reference what I please.


I think that my return from the graveyard was perhaps my finest bit of acting to date. The fatigue wasn't faked at all hardly, by that point my illness had advanced to the point where my energy levels were not as they should be. The rest of it was pure, unadulterated crap. That pretty much sums it up.


Well, my eventful fourth year is fairly well covered, I think. Not much I left out at first glance. Time to move on to other things. I read that journals are often used for purposes other than what I have been doing. I figure, what the hell, let's give it a shot.


The few times I manage to get sleep, my dreams have been quite interesting. I don't actually have the visions that I pass on to Dumbles, of course. My dreams are something a bit more standard to one in a teenage body, no matter what shape. You would think that someone with my past would be horribly scarred by the notion of sex. I am, and have always been, smart enough to disassociate the actions of my customers with what sex should be. So I am no stranger to lustful dreams. Recently my dreams have focused on one person. The dreams always start with hearing his voice, which in real life sends shivers down my spine. He is often stroking my hair from behind and saying the kinkiest things while lightly caressing my bare chest with calloused fingertips. This sends such delicious sensations through my body that I press closer against him, moaning softly. Here, the dream branches off, I think depending on my state of exhaustion or mental state when I fall asleep.


When I collapse from exhaustion, which is the most common, he pulls me closer against him and wraps one arm tightly around my waist, using his free hand to rub my inner thighs, not straying to where I want him to touch the most, of course. This continues until he starts to bite my shoulder and neck, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to feel. I swear that sometimes I have woken up with teeth marks, they feel so real. By this point I'm consumed with enough pure lust that I'm a whimpering, moaning puddle. I would like to imagine that my dream man smirks at my reaction in that way I adore, and he proceeds to push me to the bed, covering my small frame with his larger one, and suddenly all clothes vanish and we are skin-to-skin. The heat he radiates sends waves of pleasure and excitement through me, as does his heavy weight almost, but not quite, crushing me. I raise my hips, and we touch each other's arousals for the first time. No matter how many times I have this dream, it's always the first time. Even as he's grinding against me, he still speaks to me in that lovely voice all the wonderfully kinky things he will do to me before our session is over.


Foreplay, in many ways, is a greater source of pleasure for me than the actual act, since I have never really experienced it. The fact that my dream lover spends what seems like ages stroking, kissing, caressing, and preparing me is a huge-turn on, and my dream self often climaxes just from this. My dream man spends plenty of time exploring every inch of my body with a quiet self-assuredness that I envy. After caressing me into one powerful orgasm, he pulls me up from the bed and lays down himself, allowing me to do whatever I wish in a gesture of trust that brings a tear to my eye. I try to repeat the skillful ministrations he gave to me, but in the end I usually give up soon and proceed to give him the best blow job ever. Remember, there's serpent in my ancestry, and serpents not only have no gag reflex but have very, VERY powerful throat muscles. I love to drive him near climax, and I try to have him erupt down my throat, but almost at the point of no return he pulls me off and throws me to the bed in pure lustful abandon. He leans down and caresses my ear with his voice, making sure that I'm still ready for him, and then he is deep inside me. I have felt the physical act many times before, but it always feels like he's touching more of me than anyone ever had, that there's still something left within me untouched by the crude masses. Lust overcomes both of us at that point, and we rut like animals until we hit a simultaneous, very powerful, orgasm. At this point I wake up panting, the front of whatever clothes I'm wearing a mess, and I swear that, for a few fleeting moments, I can feel his heat explode within me, searing me in ways I've never felt before.


I used to get profoundly depressed after such dreams, for I could not in good conscience reenact this scene in real life. I've lusted after him almost from the first moment I met him, but I've kept it very well hidden. If I really wanted to, I would have little problem following through on my desires. The chance that he would get sick from me, however, is far too great for me to indulge in selfish desire. Sex with me, at this point, would be a virtual death sentence. I would not even give my worst enemy the affliction that I suffer from, let alone someone I care for. Yes, it is more than lust that I feel. Better to keep a distance then. If circumstances were different, I could have imagined a life with him. Sure, we'd have our share of rows, but things would never be dull. Enough of this fantasizing, time to get back to work. It did feel good to get this out. Maybe all those self-help books I usually sneer at have a few kernels of truth to them after all.

Damn it all. This is just too, too much to handle right now. I should have waited longer to continue reading the journal after spending most of the night trying to decipher that blasted tree. I knew that we were in for some shocking revelations, but as usual we were unprepared for the magnitude of them. I feel flattered, that he mentioned me as one of the only people with the potential to properly figure it out. If nothing else, I shall have to live up to those expectations.


It seems that most of the surviving members of the Slytherin line are non-human. There are several colours for the names, but it seems fairly obvious that shining silver means alive and black refers to dead family members. The names included in the human descendants are truly shocking. I expected a who's who of traditionally dark families, such as the Blacks, to feature heavily, but it seems that only once did the Black bloodline cross Slytherin's through marriage. I never thought, in my wildest flight of fantasy, that Fudge would be on the tree, let alone Minerva. Fudge is related through marriage only, thankfully, but Minerva comes from the line of Salazar's youngest, which as it turns out married heavily into light-loving families. Her blood relation is nowhere near as direct as Tom's, but there's a chance that her being an Animagus might be a blood gift. Maybe other things as well. If interpreted properly, this tree could possibly rewrite much of wizarding history. Near the top of the tree, where Salazar's name itself lies, many of the names are written in an unfamiliar language. Properly deciphered, I am sure that, judging by his past record, Salazar's tree will shock the wizarding world to it's foundations, and maybe past.


I really didn't think that a sexually abused child would have sex dreams, let alone describe them in such detail. At this point I have enough to try to understand without adding this mystery into the mix. Once things die down I might spend some time trying to figure out who Harry's dream lover was, simply so I could give him many of his effects that remain unclaimed. I have taken temporary custody over the belongings that he didn't include in his last will, and maybe once these are given to the one that Harry cared for the burden I carry with me would be a bit less. I probably run the risk of developing a drinking problem, but Merlin help me, I need a drink.