In the cell, it was soft underfoot: the floor was earth. Bahman Zinn sat waiting on a half-rotten wooden bench, gazing at the wall; I was strangely unsurprised to see him there. In the wandlight, the red and yellow of his costume looked different: pale and dull, as though it had been washed too many times. Only when he realised that a second person had shuffled in behind Tom did he look interested.
–Come to try your skill again, have you?†He sounded defiant, and not nearly as tired as he looked. –As well for you that you brought along a comrade. You took me by surprise the first time, but I would likely be a match for both of you together in a real duel. I'd enjoy putting that to the test; would you?â€
–Of course not,†replied Tom briskly. –A competent wizard is never surprised. But I'll consider returning your wand, shortly. It doesn't seem to work for me, but not to worry: I've found another. Now, I need your help with some questions I'm pursuing.â€
–You have no manners, boy. Do I look like a library, to which the door must be bludgeoned open? If you wanted civilised conversation with me, you had only to ask for it. I am always happy to talk about my art, which you are not the first to find intriguing. There are some fascinating stories I can tell--â€
–I did ask,†Tom interrupted. –I sent Rosier to sound you out last night, and he repeated your every word to me. But I didn't send him to be impressed by your accounts of your own wonderful achievements -- most of which are quite boring, to be perfectly honest with you.â€
–What, then?â€
Tom licked his lips. –What do you know about Slytherin's monster?â€
–My present assignment?†The annoyance left Zinn's voice; even in a dungeon, it seemed, he loved to talk about his work. –I believe I know what kind of beast it is, within a few guesses. I have not yet discovered its lair, or why it will not come to me when I play. Possibly something prevents it from doing so. But that is only a matter of time; it cannot resist me forever. Your Headmaster has asked me for a report at the end of the week; I fully expect to have dealt with the creature by then, and to be claiming my reward, and your gratitude. All this†-- his tone became contemptuous again -- –I would gladly have told you at any time, without the need for amateur kidnappings.â€
–You know nothing, then,†Tom concluded, satisfied. –You haven't found even a hint of a monster, have you?â€
–You might be surprised, young man. The east cellars hide a most unusual arachnid. What it is doing so far from home, I have no idea; nor am I being paid to find out.â€
–Thanks for letting me know.†Tom dissembled well, but I thought he might be making a mental note of that little snippet. –So,†he went on, –how do you propose to find the Chamber of Secrets so quickly, in the light of your failure so far? Other wizards have searched for it for centuries without success. Or at least, if any discovered it, they kept the news to themselves.â€
–I am no ordinary wizard,†Zinn replied easily. –The creature itself will lead me to its home, once I have mastered it. Is that all?â€
–No.†Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hesitating. Then, without apparent volition, he abruptly pointed a wand -- my wand -- at Zinn, throwing a spot of light onto the Piper's face. –I want the essentials. Where can I get a pipe like yours? Who will teach me to play it? Which animals can it control, and within what limits? Can I make a dragon dance to the tune I play?â€
Zinn shrugged disdainfully. –You waste your time, my simple friend. There are only a few pipes whose music compels fantastic beasts as well as mundane ones, and the technique of making them is long lost, even to the goblins. Mine is one such, but it has been in my family for centuries, passed from father to son along with the secrets of playing it. Unless you are similarly fortunate in your own ancestry, you would do well to cast your ambition elsewhere.â€
Tom grinned; he seemed exhilarated rather than discouraged. –Not at all. You have your pipe, and here you are to show me how it is played. Take it out, sir, and let us begin.†His face was full of nervous energy, and his green and silver prefect's badge glinted in the unsteady light. As I looked at him facing down the older man, I was slightly shocked by his rudeness, but couldn't help admiring his self-assurance. I wondered whether I should intervene, but I didn't know what to say.
After a pause, Zinn stood. He was not as tall as Tom, but he made up for it with the ferocity of his glare. –This has gone far enough, pup. We Pipers are a patient order, but we do not tolerate incivility.†He drew his golden flute from some hidden pocket, and was raising it to his lips even as he finished speaking. –You wish to see how the pipe is played? Very well; attend closely to your lesson.â€
Two notes -- one high, one low -- filled the cell, conjured by the Piper's smiling lips. That was all it took; the rest of the melody was accompanied by a rustling, and then a wet sound as of earth being pushed aside. Tom stabbed the beam of wandlight around the tiny room, at the walls, the floor, the ceiling; nothing there but dim shadows, and a strange damp smell in my nostrils. I glanced at Tom's face and saw no fear on it, only eagerness for whatever was coming.
Then the tune reached a fanfare, and without warning the ground erupted. From cracks and holes a thousand dark and fluttering specks emerged to fill the air: cockroaches and beetles and flies. They were so thick that I instinctively held my breath, for fear of inhaling one and choking on it. Something moist brushed my toes and I glanced down: my stockinged feet were buried in worms, horrible fat things the size of my fingers.
But the insects did not seek us: it was the Piper they swarmed to, clustering thickly around him, landing several deep on his head and shoulders like some barbaric living cloak. Still the music played, the Piper's hands gloved with tiny bodies until it seemed that they, and not his fingers, were picking out the notes.
–That's enough!†Tom shouted. A large moth landed on his cheek as he spoke, and he swatted ineffectually at it. Through the dark clouds of insects I saw Zinn, still smiling as an earwig explored his moustache, shaking his head –no†as he continued to play. –Stop!†Tom cried, –stop now, or I'll -- Silencio!â€
The frantic susurration of tiny wings ceased at once, though they continued to whirl noiselessly around us. But the magic pipe was not to be silenced so easily: it sounded out as clear as ever, a brisk, jolly tune completely at odds with the turbulence roiling the air. By now Tom was standing on tiptoes, and looking in horror at the floor: the writhing worms completely covered it, and mounded themselves shin-deep about the Piper as they struggled to reach him.
–Stupefy!†yelled Tom desperately, and for a fraction of a second the small cell was filled with red light. A cloud of little creatures was blasted away from Zinn's body, most falling insensible to the ground, but at once others settled where they had been, ready to block the next spell. The Piper laughed -- I could tell he was laughing, though he made no sound -- and walked over to the door, Tom recoiling from his path as he went. Halfway out, he turned to Tom, held out his hand, and mouthed the words, My wand.
–Not a chance!†Tom screamed at him, stretching out his wand hand. –Stupefy!†The spell had no more effect than before. –Avada Kedavra!â€
A short ray of green light sprang from the tip of my wand, and struck Zinn in the chest; it was visible only for a second, but it was enough. Zinn had been leaning forward when he was hit. He fell heavily onto his knees and balanced there for a few terrible seconds, his face frozen in a ghastly blank stare, his mouth wide open with the suddenly quiet pipe still stuck to his bottom lip. Then he toppled forward, and Tom was dancing nimbly aside so that his shoes would not be touched by the dead Piper's face.
I've had what you might call an eventful life, and I've seen Unforgiveables used on other occasions since that one. But let me tell you: though magic that summons a swarm of creepy-crawlies might be unsettling, it's nothing, absolutely nothing, to a cold-blooded Killing Curse. I felt dizzy, as though the blood were not circulating to my head properly; there was a rushing sound in my ears. I was beginning to think Oh, Merlin, I am not going to faint before my vision cleared and I saw Tom's expression. He was flushed and seemed out of breath, but a slow grin was spreading over his face at what he'd done. He held up my wand vertically in front of him, squeezing it tightly in a clenched fist, as if he had to keep it in sight for its curse to remain real.
–Why, Tom? What did you have to kill him for? You could've just given him his wand back and let him go!†My voice sounded whiny and childish, but I didn't much care, not when I was stuck in a lightless prison cell with a murderer.
–Why?†Tom repeated, turning to look at me. –Because he's a foreigner, that's why. No-one will miss him. He hasn't got much in the way of family -- Rosier checked -- and he didn't tell anyone he was coming to Britain. As soon as I heard that, I knew: he was the ideal victim.†Tom seemed to be feeling almost as light-headed as I was, though for him it was the giddiness of triumph.
–But what for? We don't have to kill people for Defence Against the Dark Arts homework!†The words sounded ridiculous even as I bleated them out; I had to stop myself saying You'll get in trouble for this!
–Oh, I do need to kill -- for magical reasons that I doubt you're capable of understanding.†He smiled beatifically, flushed with his victory. –But have you never considered how difficult it must be, to get away with killing? I have. Most people are known to any number of others, who might wonder what happened to their friend, or want him back, or start remembering who he last talked to when he was alive. There aren't many good opportunities -- but this was one. Also, I rather fancy that pipe. I've always had a knack for making animals do what I want them to, and once I get the hang of playing the thing I'll be better than ever. What do you think I could do to Hogwarts if I commanded an army of rats? Or snakes, they'd be ideal. Or why not trolls, even? Speaking of which, pick it up for me.â€
–Pick -- what?†I was still struggling to digest Tom's words. Why was he telling me these things, as if I were some kind of casual accomplice? I wanted to protest, but no words seemed adequate for what had just happened, and he wasn't giving me time to think.
–Pick up the the pipe.†He gestured impatiently towards the floor. I looked down, but couldn't see the shiny flute anywhere; after a moment, I realised it was trapped beneath Zinn's body.
–Just push him off it,†Tom urged. –Come on, once you've done this for me, you can have your wand back.â€
If I'd been in my right mind I'd have refused; it was on the tip of my tongue to tell Tom to go to hell, and to pick up his own stolen property on the way there. But my brain was starting to work again, and part of it was reminding me that to get out of this nightmare I'd have to traverse that dark, dark passage outside, and for that I needed light, and probably some guidance from Tom as well. It must have been obvious what I was thinking; my eyes flicked to the half-open door, and then to my own unicorn-hair wand, which Tom was holding out enticingly.
I swallowed hard, knelt down, and grasped the red right shoulder of Zinn's outlandish garment. At least the worms and insects were all gone, bar a straggler or two caught in the folds of the Piper's costume: at the moment of his death they'd abandoned him, and scurried back to the nooks and crevices from which they'd come. One heave was enough to turn the body over, and then his sightless blue eyes were staring up at mine. He looked terrified, as though he'd died of pure fright; even that ridiculous moustache of his seemed to be fraying at the ends, and his mouth was still screaming wide open.
–The pipe,†Tom prompted. I looked about and spotted it, pressed into the damp earth by Zinn's weight. Retrieving it, I wiped it on my school robes and offered it to Tom, in a rather dirtier state than its last owner had left it.
Tom didn't take his trophy. –No, you hang onto it. I've a suspicion it's got a flesh memory, and it wouldn't do to leave evidence. I need to be careful, you know, consider all contingencies. With a bit of luck, no-one will ever ask where the poor hapless Piper went off to, but if anyone does, well, it was your wand that killed him, and your light fingers that robbed his corpse. You'll be expelled for certain; probably get life in Azkaban too, unless they go easy on you because you aren't of age.†He gave a self-satisfied smirk. –Seems like a fair swop, for a peek at my private diary. Thanks, by the way.â€
I caught my wand reflexively as he tossed it back to me. I was ready to hex him on the spot, and it wouldn't have been some limp-wristed Crawling Acne or Bat-Bogey effort either. Not that it would have done any good: if there was a spell Tom couldn't block, I sincerely doubt I was capable of casting it. But that could wait: his mentioning his diary again had reminded me of some of the things I'd seen in it.
–You-†I was myself again now. –You didn't murder the Piper just to steal his pipe! You wanted to stop him finding the monster! You're the Heir of Slytherin!â€
–Certainly won't hurt, if a few more Mudbloods get their comeuppance,†he conceded. –I wouldn't want to see Salazar's pet drowned by the likes of him†-- he kicked at Zinn's body, but was careful to not quite touch it -- –and neither would you, if you're a real Slytherin.â€
–That's horrible, Tom.†If he'd shared his views with me as we both sat in comfy armchairs in the common room, I'd still have disagreed, and these were rather less favourable circumstances. –Muggle-borns are ignorant and don't know how to behave properly, but they don't deserve to die!â€
–Who cares what they deserve?†he shrugged. –They get what's coming to them. Come on.†He pushed past me and left the cell.
As I faced him through the narrow doorway, another thought struck me. –What about Myrtle, Tom? Did you murder her, too?â€
–No, of course not. She was in the way, that's all. Leave the door open.â€
–Tom--†I took half a step, but then looked back at Zinn, still staring lifelessly upwards. –Are we going to just leave him there?â€
–I can get it disposed of. A shame to waste good food, as the Muggles are so fond of saying.â€
I tried hard not to imagine what Tom was hinting at, but wasn't quite successful. –You won't get away with this,†I complained as I followed him back down the gargoyle-haunted corridor, hurrying to stay within the pool of wandlight around him. For some reason, it didn't occur to me just then that I could cast my own light spell.
–Oh, I almost certainly will,†he assured me. –At this very moment, in fact, I'm sitting up in the fifth-year boys' dormitory, playing four-handed whist with Rosier, Lestrange, and your dim cousin. He and Rosier are winning, or they were until the queen of spades whispered to Lestrange about Avery's poor hand, and some adroit play by me put us four tricks up. They'll all swear I was there.â€
–I don't believe you. They might be playing all night, but how can you know who's winning?â€
Tom stopped and looked back at me over his shoulder, and laughed softly. A high, cold laugh he had; it never did sound right on such a good-looking boy. –Who do you think gave them the cards to play with?â€
I didn't have an answer to that.
–Meanwhile†-- Tom chuckled again -- –you're down here with an incriminating wand, and the Piper's most treasured possession on you as well. I'd like you to take that home, by the way. Bernard'll get it off you when his parents visit yours over the summer, and he can pass it on to me in September. Don't worry, I'll be careful with it; I won't be playing it in the Great Hall or anything. I have something rather more special in mind for it.â€
We reached the narrow staircase, and began to ascend; Tom made me go first again. –I might keep the pipe for longer than that,†I told him, somewhere in the darkness beneath my feet. –I don't think you deserve to have it.â€
–Don't go on about people deserving things,†he reproached me, in a softer voice. –People get what they get, and that's all there is to it. You haven't done so badly out of this yourself: you'll always find a valuable friend in me, as long as you deserve it, of course.†I couldn't see his smirk, but I could hear it. –All I ask in return is a little discretion, and I know I can rely on you for that, as I've arranged for you to have no other choice.â€