Subterranean Secrets
Chapter 17
The two girls approached the mirror, staring at it in wonder, but all they saw in return were their own pale, excited faces.
Angelina reached up and rubbed a smudge of dirt off her forehead self-consciously.
“Little urchins,” Angelina said hesitantly.
Nothing happened.
“What do you think we need to do?” Emma wondered, pushing her blond hair out of her face and staring intently at the glass.
“I don’t know,” Angelina admitted in a small voice, running her fingers over the raised runes that ran around the rim of the mirror.
“Do you think they tell us how to enter?”
“Don’t know,” Angelina murmured. “Was never much good with runes.”
In a flash, Angelina recalled one of her many Runes lessons with her mother.
“What is this?”
Guinevere Lestrange gazed down at her daughter, her face mesmerizingly beautiful. Bright curls the color of corn-husks bobbed around her face like a halo, with streaks of gold glittering in the sunlight slanting in from the large glass windows giving real meaning to the phrase “hair like spun gold.” Her skin was creamy, un-aged and un-freckled, with only a small, tidy beauty mark on her right cheek. Currently, her supple red mouth was turned down in a frown, her mounting frustration evident as she waved a large flashcard with a rune inscribed on the front of it in the face of a young Angelina.
“I don’t know,” Guinevere’s daughter mumbled into her collar, her large grey eyes, so like her mother’s, wide and pleading as they stared up at Guinevere.
“Think!” Guinevere cried in exasperation. “You’ll never be any good at magic if you don’t practice, my little Angel.” The blonde beauty gave Angelina a stern look. “Twinkle says you have been sneaking off to play with that Dominque girl when you should be studying your lessons.
“Now.” Guinevere composed herself. “Let’s try again. What’s this?” She raised the flash card again.
Angelina’s storm-grey eyes traced the rune, but nothing came to her. Frowning in vexation she turned her attention to the beautiful lines of her mother’s face and her haunting grey eyes.
As soon as their eyes connected, a series of images blazed across Angelina’s vision, blinding her to the rest of the world. They came with such speed and force that they made Angelina sick, but suddenly what she was looking for flashed before her eyes. The rune was a three.
“Stop that.” The harsh admonishment of Guinevere Lestrange recalled Angelina to the world, where she found her mother gazing disapprovingly at her as she slapped the card down. “How many times must I tell you? Mind reading is invasive and dangerous. For you as much as anyone else..”
Angelina wrinkled her nose and stared down at her clasped hands.
“Oh, cheer up, my little Angel. With a little self-control and discipline, you will certainly achieve your heart’s desires. There’s nothing to fear about being extraordinary. And you are, my Angel, you were born to be. You displayed magic practically from the moment you were born”brimming with it, the medi-witch told me. So be patient, Angel; I sometimes forget your young age.
“But you must not forget your lessons.”
Guinevere smiled, dazzling her daughter with the radiance of her expression.
“Alright, let’s start again. Can you tell me what this means...”
“Angelina,” Emma called. “Angelina!”
“Oh, what? Sorry. I was distracted.”
“What if we flip it?” Emma repeated, smiling ruefully at Angelina.
“Huh?” Angelina grunted inarticulately.
“Well it’s on the stand…and…oh, I don’t know…it just sort of popped into my head. It’s ridiculous, I know.”
“No, no, wait. We should at least try it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Angelina encouraged. “Now you take that side. I’ll take this, and…”
The two girls flipped the mirror over, but all they saw was the back of a mirror.
“Oh,” Emma sighed, clearly disappointed.
“Wait,” Angelina called, reaching forward to stop Emma from flipping the mirror over again. “One of the ruins.”
It was the same as the one she remembered from her lessons, the one on the flash card her mother had held for her. It was a three.
“Let’s swing it around three times.”
And so the girls did.
Pausing, they stared into the mirror, but this time their faces were not reflected back. Instead, the mirror was full of a foggy mist and an old, translucent man with a beard like sea foam stared back at them.
“Password,” he said, his voice deep and mellow like the crashing of the waves in the quiet of the night.
“Uh, little urchins?” Angelina supplied, repeating what the tall Slytherin student had said. The old man closed his eyed and sighed, “Yes.”
And all of a sudden, the mirror, of its own volition, started to swing around. It swung faster and faster until it was a blur, and when it repositioned itself, it wasn’t a mirror at all, but a grand, arching entrance. Through the arch, a magnificent stairway, with all the grandeur of the one in the entrance hall, descended into the gloom. Torches sat in brackets lining the walls, unlit. Emma moved forward, her wand extended to light one, but Angelina stopped her.
“No,” Angelina cautioned, and Emma turned to look at her. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to face that Slytherin in a duel. And I got the impression that whoever it was didn’t want to be followed. The torches will be too bright”they’ll let whoever he was know he’s being followed. I think we better use our wands.”
“Oh, Lena,” Emma sighed in amused exasperation. “You’re so paranoid. You and Snape should form a society.”
But she still lowered her wand and whispered, “Lumos.”
Thus the two girls began their descent. After a while, the marble staircase stopped, giving way to a stone path heavily coated with the dirt of centuries of nonuse. Eventually the path became solely dirt, with only the occasional rock to trip over or to stub one’s toe on. When the path began to twist, Angelina’s wand tip lit the tunnel’s wall, illuminating the water that trickled down in slow rivulets over mossy growth. As the girls continued on, these rivulets turned to puddles beneath their feet.
“Do you think this is leading anywhere?” Emma asked after what felt like hours, her voice echoing through the caverns in distorted and eerie booms.
“Hush,” Angelina hissed. “Lower your voice. Something might hear you.”
Emma rolled her eyes, but the tunnel was too dark for Angelina to see.
“Fine,” Emma whispered. “Do you think this passage is leading anywhere? Or do you think we might have missed a turnoff somewhere back there.” Emma’s voice was a bit sharper than it would have been under normal circumstances for she was tired; the strenuous hiking had made her back sweaty even though the passage was cold and damp and her book bag was digging uncomfortably into her shoulder. She really wished now that they had made it up Ravenclaw Tower to drop of their bags before embarking on this adventure.
“I don’t thinks so. And I can’t see why that Slytherin would be using this passage if it were a dead end. But…you’re right, it does feel as if we should be at Hogsmeade by now. But it might be further than it looks”after all, neither of us has gotten to go.”
And after a little more debate, the two girls decided to forge ahead.
Thus, with wand tips aloft, the pair made their way on down the winding path. The splashes of water from their feet as they made their way through the now ever present puddles reverberated loudly through the darkness. The path was just starting to slant upward when it happened.
A huge earthworm the size of a python descended from the ceiling, blocking the passage with its’ huge, blind, wriggling form.
Emma shrank back in alarm, her eyes going wide, her throat closing in terror, petrified, as the giant beast wriggled sightlessly towards them.
Angelina stepped forward, her wand raised, but before she had uttered even a single spell, the earthworm disappeared with a bang. And standing behind it loomed Angelina’s father, his robes billowing about him as he strode forward.
“Angelina Lestrange,” he boomed, his voice as terrible and cold as the raging North sea. “Can’t you even stand up to a simple earthworm? What sort of witch are you, girl? You are a shame to the illustrious Lestrange name! You don’t even deserve a place on the family tree!.”
Angelina, her voice quaking with shame and fright, tried to reason with her father. “I was going to do something. I-I was about to do something.”
But Mr. Lestrange, who was hardly listening, had moved over to the passage wall. When she turned her wand light to follow him, Angelina illuminated not a slick, moss covered wall, but the delicate, flowering vines of her family tree. Turning burning eyes to her father, Angelina fell to her knees. The clutches of despair squeezing her heart painfully. If it squeezed much harder, she felt certain her heart would shatter.
“No father. No. Please. I’ll do anything,” she supplicated, as waves of grief, fear, pain, and betrayal wracked her body. Tears, hot and salty, sprang to her eyes as fear constricted her throat. If her heart didn’t kill her, the lack of oxygen would.
“Be silent,” he hissed. He drew his wand and the tip glowed red like a cigarette.
And Angelina collapsed in despair, shielding her eyes from the sight.
All of a sudden, out of the darkness, Angelina heard the shout of “Ridiculous!”
Emma! In her agony, Angelina had completely forgotten about the other girl. But what was she screaming at her father? Did she think telling him his actions were ridiculous was going to help? But it was. Waves of relieve, calm and soothing, washed over her, freeing her throat and heart, pushing the tears, despair, hurt, and anger away.
Confused and relieved, Angelina unfurled, the grief no longer crippling. Wiping her face, she glanced up to see her father skipping around, waving a paintbrush and palette, a red beret positioned jauntily on his head. And then it clicked. The logical and reasonable part of her brain, which had been drowning in pain, resurfaced. The image was so comical, and so in contrast to her actual father, that Angelina almost laughed but caught herself. This was a boggart, and they still needed one more for their prank.
“Don’t laugh!” Angelina called behind her to Emma as she rummaged frantically in her dropped book bag for something. Triumphantly, she pulled out the tin box Madame Pomfrey had given her, filled with bandages. Hurriedly, she started stuffing the bandages into the pockets of her robes. Then she stood up and sprinted over to Emma, who was standing, looking at Angelina in confusion.
“What”” Emma began.
“It’s a boggart,” Angelina said frantically.
“Yes. I know, but””
“Put these in your pocket,” Angelina ordered, stuffing a few balls of rolled up bandage into Emma’s hands. “Alright,” she continued, still ignoring the confusion of her friend. “You need to step forward again. So it will turn into that worm-thingy. But this time, you know it’s a boggart, so just shrink it with ‘ridiculous.’ Then I’ll grab it and put it in here.” Angelina shook the tin. “You don’t have any spell-o-tape?”
“Yeah in my bag, why?”
But at that moment, the frolicking Mr. Lestrange engorged, twisting and distorting into a giant, slithering, writhing earthworm.
“Go!” Angelina shouted.
And once again, Emma shouted, “Ridiculous!”
As soon as she had, Angelina darted forward and slammed the worm into the tin. Immediately, the tin started to shake and the pounding sound echoed through the passage.
“Grab your tape!” Angelina cried trying desperately to keep the tin closed.
“Here,” Emma panted, coming up to Angelina’s side and beginning to wrap the tap around the shaking tin. “Watch your fingers.”
Soon the two girls had the tin safely sealed up and stored in Angelina’s book-bag. In the silence that followed, Angelina started to feel a trickle of embarrassment seeping through her and her face flushed hotly.
“Thanks for saving me back there,” Angelina muttered bashfully as they began mounting a treacherously slick flight of stairs.
“Of course,” Emma whispered, her voice warm and comforting. There was no judgment or condescension in her tone. “Sorry it took me so long. I tried it two times before anything happened.” she finished in a business-like tone. She knew Angelina would hate to talk about feelings.
“Well,” Angelina continued, glad for the chance to take refuge in the theoretical, “it always takes a few practice tries to perfect a spell, especially in the field like this. It’s impressive you know the spell at all; we probably won’t cover boggarts ‘til end of second year. Fifth, if Fishback continues teaching us. It was just great you recognized it for what it was. I didn’t,” she added softly.
“That’s ’cause it didn’t change until it took on your worst fear. And it’s much harder to spot when it’s your nightmare that’s coming to life. It just didn’t make any sense to me that your father would be prowling the secret passages of Hogwarts.”
Angelina laughed. When put like that it sounded ridiculous that she could have been plunged into such terror. Still, at the time…
“Come on let’s see where this passage leads us.”
When they finally emerged, the cold air of evening struck them though they quickly realized they weren’t quite outside yet. Instead, they emerged onto the ledge of a large cavern. To their left, a flight of stairs carved from the side of the rock descended to the bottom of the cavern, which stretched out below in a gigantic circular cave whose wide, gaping entrance lay directly in front of them leading out into the mountains beyond.
However, they were not the only occupants of this den. The deep voices of many people echoed and reverberated off the high arching ceiling, causing a couple of bats to take flight, heading out into the evening skies.
Slowly and with caution, Angelina and Emma crept their way to edge of the landing and looked down. Almost thirty feet below them lay the bottom of the cavern. In the centre of the cavity stood a group of darkly cloaked figures, highlighted by the glow of the setting sun through the cave entrance. It was from this group that the noise stemmed. Their faces were impossible to identify, as the hoods of their cloaks and the deepening shadows hid them from view. All save for one: the Slytherin fifth year who stood proudly in front of the hooded figures
Angelina felt a thrill of apprehension run up her spin, and turned her attention to focus on what the group was saying.
“Now, tell us about you,” one of the cloaked figures was saying, his voice easily carrying up to the ledge where the two spies crouched. “How goes our mission inside Hogwarts? How are our Knights of Walpurgis doing?”
“Our numbers have grown. Our mission of recruitment is going well. Many are eager for the reforms we advocate. They’ve seen how the Mudbloods have forgotten their place; they walk among us as if they are our equals,” the tall Slytherin related in a low and orderly fashion, yet below the words lurked a fervor, a passion that madly gripped the speaker. “Deference for heritage and tradition is no longer present in the halls of Hogwarts. Many wish to restore the order, and so join the Knights in our crusade to bring those who have strayed back to the flock.
“For even of our own forget,” another Death Eater chimed in angrily. “They have no pride, no self-respect. Those Blood-Traitors have let their children act like common Muggles. And so they forget their rightful place. Think that the Mudbloods are their equals. They, who have generations of pure blood lineage preceding them.”
“Worst of all is that that Muggle-loving fool of a Headmaster they have teaching up at the school even encourages manual labor for detention! Imagine degrading our heirs, our future rulers of the world, by making them scrub cauldrons by hand.”
Here there was murmured of discontent from the group.
“Are such practices really employed?” One Death Eater anxiously asked.
Here the boy replied, “I am sorry to report that you are correct. However, I hope, as I’m sure you do, that we will soon be ready to combat those fools who do not recognize our rights, who seek to suppress us. All this wand control and magic limitations.
“It is high time everyone is reminded of the rightful order.”
Here there was a cry, “The rightful order.”
“Good,” said the first voice with satisfaction. “The Dark Lord will be pleased to learn that he can expect more followers to join our ranks soon.”
“Has he given a date for the initiation, for those old enough?” The Hogwarts student asked, the yearning clear in his voice. At that moment one of the last rays from the setting sun fell on the boy’s face, illuminating it. Angelina, recognizing the face, gasped in surprise.
There was a tiny bit of muttering down bellow.
“It was simply a bat,” The first voice, the voice of the man in charge, stated.
At that Emma tapped Angelina on the back and motioned to the passage entrance with her head.
“After graduation,” were the last words Angelina heard as she followed Emma into the darkness of the tunnel.
They descended the stairs quickly and quietly, moving as hastily as they dared along the slick, wet ground. It wasn’t until they were halfway back to the castle that either of them dared to speak.
“So, the Big Fungus has people working within Hogwarts,” Emma whispered, a chill of fear seeping down her spine.
Angelina, who was traveling silently behind her, deep in thought, simply nodded. They made the rest of the trip back to the Ravenclaw common room in silence. Both girls collapsing into their beds with exhaustion, and as Angelina’s eyes drifted closed and the waves of sleep came to claim her, all she thought was: Yes, the Big Fungus has recruited Hogwarts students. And one of those students is my brother.