29 CH29 - The Grey Lady

Edmund and the speaker spoke long into the night. It was a novel experience for her, who was unused to needing to ask for information. That fact alone excited her, something that made Edmund grin. She had spared nothing in her interrogation of him. His past, his arrival into the world, his actions so far, and his future plans were all discussed and scrutinized until she was satisfied.

Edmund's entanglement with Voldemort particularly tickled her. Her emotions and facial expressions had flip-flopped, unsure whether to be proud of him for his resourcefulness or to bash his head in for messing with fire.

Not that he had much of a choice in the matter.

"At the very least, Voldemort will make you a formidable foe," she admitted.

Edmund smiled dopily in agreement, thinking of the ritual once more. She clipped him on the back of the head.

"Battling an unaware enemy is easy, regardless of the challenge they would normally pose. Successfully ambushing someone like Dumbledore would not be a tenth of the accomplishment as forcing him into a standstill head-on," the speaker warned. "Overconfidence will get you killed."

Edmund rubbed his nape soothingly, giving her a half-hearted glare, but saying nothing more. The speaker was evidently not satisfied with his silence.

"Three werewolves is an impressive hunt for a youngling like you, but can you claim that you would have fared so well had they been aware of your presence? I am all in favour of fighting dirty, but you will have to expose yourself eventually, whether it is of your own will or not. Can you be certain that at that moment you will not stumble or freeze?" she asked him insistently.

"I don't know," Edmund replied after a pause.

"Good," the speaker commended with a nod. "Be aware of your limitations; test and push them constantly. You do not seem the type to hesitate to me, but I am not in the habit of making assumptions."

Edmund acknowledged her with a slight downward tilt of his head before the conversation began anew.

*-*-*-*

- (Scene Break) -

*-*-*-*

It was considerably long afterward that he finally actually began the journey back to the castle. Slinking through the halls, he was again grateful for the pervading sense of emptiness. Physically he might have been none worse for wear, but his brain had taken a battering throughout the night. He was in no state to avoid patrols and sneak around.

And so, Edmund was relieved when he made it to his bed without incident.

One second he fell onto the mattress after barely keeping awake enough to tug on his pyjamas...

...The next, he was being prodded awake.

With bleary, bloodshot eyes, Edmund could barely make out the form of a concerned Professor Sprout gazing down at him.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked, not unkindly.

"Whazzat?" he mumbled, his voice raspy from sleep.

Professor Sprout silently cast a spell on him, before placing the backs of her fingers against his forehead.

"You turned in early last night, Mr. Cole, and you missed breakfast today as well. That much sleep is not a good sign. Perhaps I ought to floo Madam Pomfrey to come take a look at you, hmm?" she said softly as Edmund stretched.

"No. No need to bother her. I've got a killer head—" a yawn interrupted Edmund's sentence, "—ache. I didn't sleep much last night at all, actually. I've got some pepper-up stored away, though. A couple of sips, and I should be right as rain," he assured her.

"If you're certain," Sprout frowned. "Tidy up and come eat. An empty stomach only worsens a headache, believe me."

"I will, Professor," Edmund acquiesced.

It was a bit over halfway through his morning ritual when his mind began to ponder why Marvolo had not reached out to him yet.

"Oh, fuck!" he audibly cursed.

Pulling on his clothes haphazardly as he ran, Edmund dashed to the Room of Requirement.

Pacing back and forth, he quickly summoned the Room of Lost Things. Walking through the piles with a sense of familiarity, he dove into a small trunk buried under tons of old Quidditch jerseys. Removing the accumulated dust with a sharp thrust of his wand, he opened the compartment. An old wizarding camera lay within, clearly antique, but still functional.

Retrieving the communication cube from his expanded satchel, Edmund held it in his hand as far away from his body as possible. With his other arm, he snapped several photos, rotating the artifact all the while.

It was not ideal, but he had no other option at this point. Every second wasted increased the chance of Marvolo blowing up at him. He certainly did not have the hours he had desired to study the object. This would have to do.

He exited the room, before immediately conjuring the usual layout that he used for his training. Only a few minutes later, he was standing beside the tub he regularly healed himself in, holding the cube next to his abdomen. As soon as the device made contact with his stomach, the odd phenomenon occurred again. His skin became almost liquid, allowing the artifact to pass through with ease. Several stabs of pain later, the cube was secured back within him, out of sight once more.

Immediately, the mental link blared into being, Marvolo's snarling filling his brain.

"I truly did give myself too much credit. You are a fool, Edmund!" he spat angrily.

"Yes," Edmund took the scolding without complaint.

"An idiot," Marvolo continued.

"You're right," Edmund answered.

"But perhaps not completely hopeless," Marvolo said, a tinge of pride entering his voice. "You not being dead says it all I suppose. A success, then?"

"Completely," Edmund giddily affirmed.

"How do you feel?" Marvolo demanded.

"I feel... more," Edmund said, not sure how better to articulate it.

"Hmmm," Marvolo hummed with satisfaction. "This is only the beginning. The process will go faster from now on. Your next ritual's ingredients should be prepared by mid-January."

"That was quick," Edmund commented, anticipation running through him.

"I had faith in you. In myself," Marvolo smugly retorted. "I had begun planning for it long ago. All that remains to arrive are some imported magical ingredients from abroad. I will not have you wasting any time."

"I'm glad to hear it," Edmund smiled.

*-*-*-*

- (Scene Break) -

*-*-*-*

It was on the night of the third of January, five days before the arrival of the Hogwarts Express, that Edmund finally had a breakthrough.

Quite literally.

Hearing the door to the Restricted Section open with a click, Edmund's jaw dropped. The wards on the library were nothing difficult individually, but collectively formed an intricate matrix to navigate.

Wardbreaking on this level was less about power or knowledge, and more about simply gaining experience. Edmund needed to familiarize himself with the common tricks used by warders to interlink protections, and how various failsafes were connected and triggered. Following the web of wards and then evading them was an art.

Art that had finally yielded results for Edmund.

Admittedly, he had undertaken a rather difficult first challenge for himself.

Wardbreaking could be executed in a multitude of ways. Those powerful enough and uncaring about detection could brute force their way through wards. Others who worked more methodically, like the curse breakers of Gringotts, could methodically break down individual spells until the entire defence had been dismantled.

The few who wanted to bypass wards without alerting their caster, or leaving no signs of their presence, had it much harder. These people, usually thieves, had to discover methods to bend and manipulate wards, creating temporary gaps that could be passed through. Needless to say, a much more subtle and onerous task.

That was precisely what Edmund had just achieved.

With a silent fist bump into the air, Edmund jumped up from his kneeling position onto his two feet. Obviously, he had access to all the books in the Restricted Section and more in the Room of Requirement. However, now that he had made it in, he wanted to browse the collection for himself

Weaving through the bookshelves, he withdrew books and opened them at random. Most were highly specialized, advanced magical tomes. Some, notably, contained knowledge about darker practices.

Edmund would not have expected that Dumbledore would allow such books in the school. Especially after the path Voldemort had gone down after discovering the mention of horcruxes. But, apparently not.

He attributed the diverse selection more to the Board of Governors, a more traditional leaning body. Edmund would not be surprised if mentions of illegal magic decreased in the future as the light side gained prominence.

It was of no matter to him regardless.

Edmund was pulled from his musings by the distinctive sound of a page-turning.

'Odd,' Edmund contemplated. 'I've been camping outside the doors practically the entire night. How did someone get in without me noticing? More importantly, how talented must they be to achieve something like that.'

He hugged the walls as he silently approached the fellow intruder. He was shocked, however, when he saw who it was.

'Well... that makes more sense. She's definitely talented, but she didn't need to bypass my position at all,' he chuckled amusedly.

For hovering before him was the ghost of Ravenclaw, the Grey Lady. Helena Ravenclaw's story was a tragic one, and it seemed to haunt her every day. Edmund had only caught sight of her a few times, but whenever he did, she had looked absolutely morose.

But not now.

As she flipped through the pages, her lips were subconsciously tilted into a smile, her brow furrowed in concentration. Edmund watched, fascinated, as her hands briefly turned opaque when she physically interacted with the book before morphing back into their usual level of translucency.

Ghosts, unknown to most, were capable of small manipulations of the tangible world. Usually, this required strong emotion, similar to bursts of accidental magic. Moaning Myrtle's constant misery made her infamous because of this, as tales of her flooding bathrooms were known to all.

'Either she is feeling particularly affected because of what she's reading,' Edmund thought, 'or she's particularly powerful. I'd bet on the latter of the two. After all, she's the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Even if she possessed merely a fraction of her mother's talents, she would be exceptional.'

He watched for several hours as Helena perused through one book after another, reading contentedly.

'Interesting. I don't think she's looking for anything in particular. She's just learning for the sake of learning. Textbook Ravenclaw,' he smirked.

Perhaps perusing the library had been worth it.