My eyes fluttered blearily, trying to find the will to open and then gave up. What was the point? If I was dead then there shouldn't be much scenery. I took in a shuddering breath. I was dead.
Wait. I sat bolt upright, I shouldn't be able to breathe....
"Welcome back, Rhya. I must say, you gave me quite the fright there for a while, and frights do not come kindly to an old heart like mine," Albus Dumbledore chuckled, his half-moon spectacles glinting in the dawn light that came filtering through the hospital wing's windows.
I stared in amazement. I was alive, Hogwarts was seemingly still intact and the fact that the Headmaster was smiling must mean that my father remained dead, or semi-dead.
"I'm alive!" I blurted, then quickly composed myself, "I mean, is Harry alright? Is my brother still cursed? I swear he was cursed! Marcal would never hit me on his own accord! Is the Philosophers Stone safe? Where's You Know Who? Is Quirrel gone?"
The headmaster didn't reply at first, he stared out in lost thought, as if trying to sort through the mass of questions thrown at him. Sighing in frustration, I looked down at the comfortable hospital bed, covered in blue and white, stiffly ironed sheets. There was a bedside cabinet on my left and it was covered with what looked like half of Christmas.
"What are all these?" I asked incredulously, unwrapping a silver parcel addressed to me.
"Ah, I see you have discovered your trove of get well presents. Half, I believe, are from your family. Mr Marcal has left your bedside for the first time to go down to breakfast today, persuaded by Ms Mc Gonnigal."
I started, Madonna had persuaded him? That brought up a new question, "How long have I been in here?"
"A little over a week. Mr Potter got out two days ago."
Being around Albus Dumbledore was like being curled up in front of a fireplace; I felt warm, content and secure. That was probably why I casually asked, "Hey, Professor, the night Fluffy attacked me, well, something happened between Potter and I. It is like some sort of bond. I can read his thoughts; feel when he's in pain. Now, for instance, I can tell you that he is taking a third floor shortcut to avoid people staring at him."
To my surprise, the professor didn't call me crazy or ask how hard I hit my head, but gave me a look that felt as if he was staring into my soul. "I think, Rhya, that Mr Potter has made, what is called a 'Wizard's Bond', with you. This occurs when on wizard- or witch, saves another magical human's life. You are now in debt to him, Miss Riddle, a life debt. Usually the wizard's bond is not so strong, but you and Harry are bonded far deeper than that. I am afraid that is all I can go into now. Is there anything else?"
I sifted through this new piece of information. Something was wrong about what he had said, I just couldn't figure out what. Then it hit me. "Miss Riddle?"
Dumbledore smiled genuinely, and he chuckled. "Yes, Rhya, I do in fact know who you are. A teacher never forgets a student; and Tom Riddle was certainly more than that."
"But I'm not expelled," I said stupidly, trying to understand.
"No, Miss Riddle. I have given you the benefit of the doubt that you will not follow in your father’s footsteps, and as proof of that, you are here today. Voldemort was thwarted in his plan to rise again, and it is all because of your choices."
"Sometimes I don't really know if I have any choices, I just do things and end up paying for them," I confessed.
"You know you are making the right choice when it is no choice at all," Dumbledore went on, "The choice to save a life, the choice to end a life and the choice to tell the truth, we are all faced with these, but they matter little compared to what you think is best."
"Uh... yeah." I couldn't think of anything else to say. What could I say? I was more confused than a drunken troll.
“You must of course be wondering what has happened to the Philosopher’s Stone?” asked Dumbledore, casually unwrapping one of my chocolate frogs.
“Maybe. Do I want to hear what happened?”
“It does concern you deeply.”
I sighed. “Okay.”
“Before I continue, there is something you must see.” Dumbledore grabbed my hand and held my little finger towards me. I leaned away, trying to keep it in focus.
There was a small mark upon it, shaped like a tiny star on the tip of my finger, red as blood. Red as the Philosopher’s Stone.
“You cut your hand on the edge of the stone, and the moment it touched your blood, it was absorbed into you. It disappeared, but its power still flows through your veins.
“This is a magic unheard of before. I do not know what the consequences will be, but I think we can assume that its original purpose can be harnessed only by you. Controlling it’s power, you should be more than able to turn any metal you wish into gold, and, as long as you are killed by an unnatural event, you are immortal.”
“Immortal,” I repeated in shock staring at my hand. This shouldn’t be possible, couldn’t be possible. But I knew deep down inside me that it was true. I turned over my hand, examining the back. I would never age, my skin would never wither, and I would never die. Normally that would be great for any other girl, staying young and beautiful forever, but for me it was awful.
“I have told Mr Potter that I am going to destroy it, and I think that it’s best if he believes it is that way. I do not know of any possible reversal of the spell, Rhya, you will stay this way forever.” He glanced at the watch on his wrist and stood. “I am afraid that I must go now, and make a speech for the end of year feast. You will be glad to know that Griffindor have won the house cup. Or will win, at any rate.”
Dumbledore began to walk towards the door. As he was closing it I called out, “What about the bond? I don’t want Harry reading my thoughts!”
Dumbledore looked over his spectacles at me. “I would try Occlumency, Miss Riddle.” And then he was gone.
I sighed and lay back on my pillows. Talk about a confusing conversation. What the hell was Occluminousy- or whatever it was?
I thought about the fact that now I would never grow old. What had Harry said about Nicholas Flamel? He lived for over six hundred years. I rubbed my forehead, where a small headache was beginning to form.
Needing a distraction, I looked to my bedside table, where it was littered with cards and sweets. I had about a dozen cards from Marcal, seemingly one for every time he got bored in here. There was even a series of scribbling on the cabinet, dark grooves burnt in with the tip of his wand.
I picked up the most recent and read;
Dear Rhya,
If you’re in a coma I hope you wake up REALY soon, because I miss you, sis. Blaise bought you chocolates and a card this morning, but I ate them. Sorry about that. Hell, I’m sorry abot EVERYTHING, Rhy, I’m sorry I got you into this mess, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry that you landed with me as your brother.
Please wake up,
Your idiot of a brother- Marcal.
I knew this would’ve taken a lot out of him, for both admitting that he was sorry and actually putting pen to paper. I ignored his spelling mistakes, and pulled out a packet of fizzing wizzbees. Laying back on my pillow, I wondered where my father was now.
The Hogwarts Express pulled out the next morning, and I found a compartment for myself, first scaring out a group of Hufflepuffs.
I’d been avoiding my brother all day, having snuck back to my dormitory before Marcal could visit after dinner. I’d caught a glimpse of him as he was herded along with the rest of the Slytherins, hand in hand with Madonna.
I poked my head out of the compartment, looking for any sign of the trolley lady. Several people were running up and down the train, and I had to duck back in several times to avoid having my head knocked off.
A blonde figure down the train stepped out of his compartment for a moment, saw me staring, and ducked back inside.
I shut the door, and slid along my seat to gaze out the window. I knew what was coming, and sure enough, the door slid open once more and Marcal entered. He took a seat across from me.
“Rhya,” He began.
“Look, Marcal. You could apologise or get angry or make us both upset,” I told him, still looking out the window, “But I just think that it would be better if we just acted as if nothing ever happened. You didn’t attack me, I didn’t side with Potter and no one even knows what the Philosopher’s Stone is.”
My brother’s brow knitted in confusion. “What is the Philosopher’s Stone?”
I smiled, reaching across to hug him. Squeezing Marcal as hard as I could, I whispered in his ear, “Exactly.”
Platform 9 and 3 Quarters was bustling with families as they remarked how much their children had grown, how well fed they looked, etc.
Lucius and Narcissa were the odd ones out, standing moodily beside the barrier, watching the people before them. As we approached, Narcissa took Draco in her arms and said disgustedly, “I hope you were treated well enough at that excuse for a… school.”
Draco looked embarrassed by his mother’s antics, but allowed the house elf materializing beside him to take his trunk and eagle owl.
Randal snaked his way out of my robes and up onto my shoulder. “I hate apparition,” he hissed, ”It makes me feel sick!”
“Can snakes get sick?” I asked, smiling.
He didn’t answer as Marcal took my arm, just slithered back into my pocket, hissing. My brother linked arms with the elf, and I caught a glimpse of Harry and Ron.
“Goodbye!” I tried to call, but I didn’t know if they heard me. As, seconds later, we swirled away to the place I could never call home.
END OF BOOK ONE
Marcal: You did so call it home!
Rhya: No, when did I do that?
Marcal: Chapter 10, paragraph 6.
Rhya: I did not!
Me: You did…
Rhya: Liar. You’re just agreeing because you like my brother!
Marcal: *Blushes*
Me: Well I did create a pretty hot character.
Marcal: Hell yeah, I’m awesome!
Me: I was talking about Quirrell…
Marcal: But, but….
Me: Just kidding! You’re pretty cute for a fictional person.
Rhya: ANYWHO! This is a bit awkward now, so I’m just going to celebrate the fact that THE FIRST BOOK IS COMPLETE!!!!