Fiat Lux

By Autumn Faery


AN: Oh dear, I've been so busy. I do hate highschool! I have finals next week--and nearly all my classes are borderline! Wish me luck!

Again, my dearest thanks to 404, leah, Sophiax, Icelands, Will o' the Wisp, The Enchanted Teakettle, and OCDdegrassi for your wonderful reviews! I love you guys!

Disclaimer: So ... I was making millions with these Harry Potter series, living the pampared life ... when I suddenly woke up! And to my everlasting disappointment, the copy of Half Blood Prince next to my bed claimed that someone by the name of JK ROWLING wrote it!


Chapter Three

Memoria Atrocisortia


"The past is malleable and flexible, changing as our recollection interprets and re-explains what has happened." -Peter Berger



The weekend was over all too quickly.

Monday morning was marked with disgruntled faces and sleepy moans in the fifth year girls' dormitory. In a corner, Lan was hastily trying to finish the last of her weekend assignments, her expression frantic. Esmeralda Bones was pacing around the dormitory agitatedly, stopping every other moment to ask everyone if they'd seen her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. And sitting in her bed was Arlene Flanders, reading over her Slughorn essay and completely oblivious to the dismal atmosphere around her. As for Augusta—

"Wake up! Augusta, it's Monday morning; you can't sleep until the noon like you usually do on weekends." Minerva shook the still form of her friend, who was snoring loudly and shamelessly. "Augusta!"

If anything, the sleeping girl snored louder than ever.

Sighing with exasperation, Minerva drew out her wand. "You'll thank me for this when you arrive in Transfigurations on time," she muttered under her breath. "Aguamenti!" A jet of trickling, clear water shot out of her wand.

This time, Augusta's response was a startled gasp and squeal as she shot up from her bed. "Idon'tknowhowtoswim!" she cried frantically and incoherently before blinking several times. Raising an arm to wipe the water off her face, her bewildered expression slowly disappeared when she looked around her surroundings.

"Oh! What time is it?"

"Seven thirty."

She gaped at Minerva. "I can't believe it. You actually got me up this early? Blimey, you're getting better and better! I swear, if it isn't for you, I'd be in detention every other day for tardiness … though, I must say, I'm wet! What spell did you use?"

"The aguamenti charm," replied Minerva as she waved her wand over Augusta, who immediately became dry.

Behind them, Esmeralda suddenly stopped pacing.

"The aguamenti charm, did you say?" she asked, staring at Minerva in disbelief. "But that's not taught until next year!" Groaning, she continued, "I swear you make the rest of us look like idiots. Agh! Never use that charm—or anything that advanced for that matter—in front of me again! I like to keep the little ego I have left in tact, thank you every much!" Despite her angry tone, Esmeralda threw Minerva a grin and resumed her pacing, still trying desperately to rediscover her lost textbook, having already tried in vain the summoning charm and any other spell she could think of.

It was already eight by the time the girls were ready for the day. Chattering casually amongst themselves, they arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast. Minerva had barely placed her book bag on the Gryffindor table when she felt a heavy tap on her shoulder.

Turning, she saw that it was Rufus Scrimgeour, his mass of red-golden mane brightly alit by the morning sunshine. As usual, he looked positively lion-like with those shrewd yellow eyes behind brushy eyebrows.

"Morning, Scrimgeour. How may I help?" Minerva greeted politely, if not distantly. Rufus was one Gryffindor she had never gotten close to. To her, he just seemed to embody the worst of the Gryffindor traits: crudeness and audaciousness.

"I've been made Quidditch captain." Like always, he was straight to the point.

"So I've heard. Congratulations." However, Minerva was slightly apprehensive; just how tough was he going to be on them?

"Thanks," he replied briskly before lowering his voice to a more business-like tone. "Listen, I don't care if you've been on the team for two years. To ensure my players' quality, I'm going to reassemble the whole team this year. So if you still want to play, make sure you're there for the tryouts on this Friday afternoon."

"Of course I'm going to be there," she snapped, thinking, and of course I'll make the team. She narrowed her eyes at the lion-like boy.

"The team is all set this year—we've never had better players. Why don't you be straightforward, Scrimgeour? This isn't really about ensuring the players quality, is it? You know all our quality; we've played together for years." You're just trying to intimidate us was left unsaid, but her words implied it—and judging by the deep cease of Rufus' brows, he understood it as well.

He clutched onto her shoulder, hard. "Don't question my motives, McGonagall," he articulated forcefully. Then, as if to make up for his toughness, he loosened his hold and patted Minerva awkwardly, adding, "I'm counting on you this year, McGonagall. The cup's going to be ours; I can feel it. Don't you dare miss the tryouts." And with that, he walked away.

Some distances away, Edith Weasley, a sixth year prefect and the Gryffindor Seeker, caught Minerva's eyes and gestured at the retreating back of Scrimgeour. Contorting her freckled face, Edith made a comical imitation of their new Quidditch captain's lion-like scowl, waving her arms around in an attempt to copy his swagger.

Guessing that Scrimgeour had already approached Edith, Minerva choked back her laughter and grinned at the red-haired girl, giving her a thumbs-up before finally sitting down.

"What did Scrimgeour want?" Augusta questioned her as she reached for the pancakes. Like Minerva, she was not particularly fond of the lion-like seventh year boy—but only because his rough demeanor frightened her at times.

Minerva pursed her lips. "Give us all a scare, I'm guessing. Get the message across that he's in complete charge.

Augusta whistled lowly at this and remarked, "He is really something, eh? Sure knows how to act fast and effectively."

"I suspect, if it isn't for his outright displays of righteousness, he'd be in Slytherin instead," she muttered lowly with a waggle of her eyebrows.

That moment, the sound of hundreds of fluttering wings above them announced the arrival of the morning mail. Minerva spotted Ebony with her usual copy of the Daily Prophet right away; her owl's black, shiny feathers always stood out against the masses of whites, grays, and browns. She gave Ebony a treat and a gentle scratch in the neck and reached to grab her morning paper. Next to her, Augusta opened with delight a package full of sweets from home.

Something compelled Minerva to glance surreptitiously at the Slytherin table. Abraxas Malfoy had received several fine bottles of red currant rum from home, no doubt to be used to gain the graces and favors of teachers like Slughorn. And sitting next to him was Avery, nervously holding what looked suspiciously like a howler.

She allowed her gaze to trial to Riddle, who sat silently across from the boys, head bent over a thick book and eyes tense in concentration. With an illicit twinge, Minerva noted that the table area around him was empty save for his old and worn book bag. She frowned. His background was ever so strange to her; he had always behaved and talked like a pureblood, yet rumors had it that he was brought up in a muggle orphanage.

That moment, he looked up suddenly and caught her gaze, eyes unreadable. His well-shaped lips stretched lazily into a smirk before Minerva quickly turned her head from the Slytherin table, berating herself for staring far too long.

The rest of breakfast passed by in a blur, and before long the bell signaled the beginning of classes. In a frenzy of actively, students rose from their tables and began shuffling out of the Great Hall. Minerva gathered her bag and stepped away from the Gryffindor bench.

"All right, week's officially begun." Next to her, Augusta sighed gloomily. "Time to head over to Transfiguration, I suppose."

Unlike her friend, Minerva did not feel dreary at the prospect of beginning the day with her favorite class. She in fact looked forward to the thrill and challenge Transfiguration offered. As she walked through the corridors with fellow Gryffindors, she briefly wondered with a small thrill of excitement what Professor Dumbledore had in store for them this week.

As soon as she stepped into the familiar Transfiguration classroom, however, her hopes were dashed.

Dumbledore was absent. His worn oak desk with bowls of muggle treats and a plethora of strange trinkets appeared strangely abandoned without his usual presence behind it. In his place, an old and gangly wizard stood cowering in the front of the room, his form tense as his pale gray eyes darted uneasily at the multitudes of students flooding through the door. He wrung his skeleton-like hands with uncertainly and waited until everyone was seated.

As last, he greeted the bewildered students in a worn, wispy voice, "Why hello, my good lads and lasses! My name is Hephaestus Harlington, and I shall be Professor Dumbledore's temporary replacement.

"Lads and lasses? Who still talks like that?" Minerva heard two girls whisper behind her, giggling madly. "Admittedly, my great uncle talked just like that—but he's been dead for years!"

Though the class was a fairly pleasant ensemble of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, many had sensed Mr. Harlington's insecurity and immediately sought to take advantage of it: before the poor man could say anything else, Dolores Umbridge's hand shot into the air.

"Ahem, ahem."

Mr. Harlington searched the crowd of faces before him confusedly before finding a frog-like girl staring at him pointedly. "Ah—yes, my dear?"

"I was wondering if we might be honored with Professor Dumbledore's whereabouts." The voice that spoke was girlish and saccharine.

"Er, yes, of course." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Professor Dumbledore has been summoned by the Ministry for assistance on a highly importantly matter." This of course set off a flurry of whispers across the classroom as the students gossiped and speculated. Minerva herself felt taken aback. Dumbledore always found the dealings of the Ministry distasteful; what on Earth prompted him to assist them this time?

Looking uneasier than ever, Harlington waved his bony arms helplessly until the whispers quieted down. "Now, now … don't you all worry, my dears! Your beloved professor Dumbledore shall return in but a day or two!"

But Dolores Umbridge was not satisfied. "What Ministry matter, sir?" she asked breathily, looking more and more toad-like as her eyes widened bulbously. Minerva knew that Dolores had her eyes set on the Ministry and planned to get a post there as soon as she graduated. The inner workings of the Ministry always excited her far more than others.

Mr. Harlington shifted uncomfortably, and finally mumbled, "How do I know?"

"You must be from the Ministry—they sent you there to replace Dumbledore! Of course you know!" many students cried across the room, rising haphazardly from their seats.

At last, the old wizard huffed with indignation and crossed his arms. He gritted his teeth, eyes seemingly ablaze and began mutter furiously to himself. Minerva, who was finding this more and more peculiar, stared at Harlington confoundedly. Then, surreptitiously, she pointed her wand at him and whispered, "Exaudio occultio!"

His angry, raspy voice filled her ears, audible and clear:

"—right, right. Leave poor old, loony Hephaestus out of it … in fact, send him to Hogwarts to watch the children! …Hah! How could they have forgotten that I was once one of the most revered aurors? My name used to bring fear and alarm to the hearts of all dark wizards! If anyone could deal with the recent troublemaking, it ought to be me! "

So Hephaestus Harlington was in fact an auror. Minerva pursed her lips in thought as she considered the old man. His ancient, bent frame certainly suggested that his glorious auroring days were long since over. But nevertheless, he was no Ministry busybody. Why did they see fit to send an Auror to Hogwarts, the safest place in Britain? The implications sudden sent a chill down Minerva's back.

Meanwhile, Harlington seemed to have recovered from his state of distress. Whipping out a wand, he yelled, "Silencio!" The room abruptly silenced. Harrumphing, the former auror lifted the silencing charm and announced with surprising authority, "No one will talk for the rest of the class. Violators will lose house points—oh yes, I haven't forgotten my Hogwarts days!—and gain detention. Now, I want everyone to take out their copy of Denfensive Magical Theory."

Minerva gaped with confusion. Glancing around, she noted that her peers were equally puzzled.

Raising her plump, little hand once again, Dolores coughed delicately. "Ahem, ahem!" Minerva resisted the urge to strangle the girl.

"Yes?" Despite of his weak and raspy voice, Harlington sounded dangerously irritated.

Dolores simply smiled sweetly, showing a mouthful of ill-shaped teeth. "Mr. Harlington, this is Transfiguration. You're asking us to take out the Defense Against Dark Arts textbook."

Harlington's thin and pale face suddenly turned several shades of red. "Do you think I care?" he roared, effectively silencing Dolores. He regarded his bewildered students with piercing gray eyes. "Go on! Get out your books!"

Everyone quickly scrambled for his or her book.

"Flip to page 313. Read silently the section on the Inferi. By the end of class, I want a page long response on how to recognize and defend against these dark and unnatural creatures turned in to me!" And at the befuddled expressions of some students, "What are you staring for? Get to work!"

And so it was. With puzzled frowns, everyone begrudgingly began the grueling task at hand. Contrary to what his antique appearance seemed to suggest, Minerva had a sneaking feeling that Harlington was far mad. His actions, she suspected, were full of intent … but what exactly did they imply?

Thoughts about dark wizards, trouble, and the Inferti occupied and swarmed in her mind until the bell signaled for the end of class. Everyone around her rushed to finish their responses. With impatient scrawls, she herself completed her conclusion paragraph, signed the date, name, and house, and handed her work to Mr. Harlington.

"Now, wasn't that strange?" Augusta muttered as soon as they walked out the classroom door. "Poor, poor, old man. Do you think he's gone a bit bonkers?"

Minerva gazed toward the pale light pouring from a wide stained-glass window and frowned. Then, turning back to face Augusta, she replied tentatively, "I think he knew what he was doing."

Her friend's usually carefree blue eyes momentarily darkened as she considered Minerva's words. Shivering, she suddenly fell silent.

Around them, Dumbledore's strange absence had also put an eerie mood upon the Gryffindors. As they entered the Defense Against Dark Arts Classroom, almost everyone appeared deep in thought.

However, a sudden, dismayed gasp shook everyone's reverie.

"Professor Slughorn? What are you doing here?" Arlene blurted out before she could help herself, distraught at the sight of her least favorite teacher. "Where's Professor Merrythought?" Indeed, strange as it was, the plump form of Slughorn was occupying the huge armchair where old Professor Galatea Merrythought usually rested.

"Good day to you too, my dear girl!" Slughorn greeted, giving a merry little wave. "Professor Merrythought had been summoned by the Ministry. I'm to take over her classes for the day."

Ministry summons again. More whispers fluttered amongst the students. By now everyone suspected foul business. Minerva heard the name Grindelwald darkly whispered several times here and there, and poor Esmeralda Bones was close to tears because both of her parents worked for the Ministry's department of magical law enforcement.

With an overwhelming sense of relief, Minerva realized that Aunt Hilda was perfectly safe in their small and obscure Scottish village.

Slughorn, however, seemed oblivious and self-satisfied as usual. Whistling a jolly tune, he bounced from the armchair and rubbed his hands together expectantly. "Well, well, what do we have here?" He scanned the students seated before him, comprised of Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth years, and grinned with delight. Naturally, he favored the Slytherins above all—but surprisingly, Gryffindors came a close second. "Lovely! A gathering of my most intelligent and clever students!" He winked not-too-subtly at Tom Riddle, who sat near the window between Avery and Mulciber.

Straightening his extravagant robes, he continued eagerly, "I say, in the spirit of fun and challenge, let us set aside lesson plans and have a dueling tournament! Won't that be exciting?"

Many students were anything but excited. Arlene Flanders was positively pale with apprehension. And a table away, Minerva heard Edmund Potter mutter to his friend, "In the spirit of fun and challenge? Right. We all know he likes to hand pick favorites for that Slug Club of his starting from the fifth years. He's just using this chance to spot out talents."

At Slughorn's instruction, everyone moved to the sides of the classroom. With several waves of his wand, the Professor made all the desks disappear, leaving the room open and vacant. He then conjured a giant board with everyone's names in glowing letters.

"If I'm not mistaken, the wizard's duel was covered in your second year curriculum, so I expect you all to be familiar with the rules and proceedings," Slughorn told them. Gesturing toward the board, he went on, "The tournament will consist of several rounds. In the beginning of each round, your name will be magically matched with an opponent's. At the end of the round, the loser's name will be eliminated from the board as the victor is matched with a new opponent. Because of this, seconds are not necessary. Do I make myself clear?"

The students nodded. Beaming, Slughorn tapped his wand gently against the board. The names mingled with a spark and whirled together in a bright mix of light, gradually stopping in pairs of two. Minerva saw her name next to a glowing Black, Araminta.

She spotted the Slytherin girl next to Malfred Avery. At first glance, she seemed very striking with her fine, tall figure and long black hair. Yet, upon a closer look, Minerva realized that any beauty she might have possessed was ruined by the perpetual sneer present upon her face and a nose far too long.

Araminta turned and caught Minerva's gaze, her sneer widening. Lazily flicking off invisible dust particles from her sleeve with a spidery hand, she drew out her wand dispassionately and ambled towards Minerva.

Standing in opposite directions, the girls bowed, their wands poised and ready.

"Stupefy!" Araminta screeched, wasting no time at all. A bolt of red rushed toward Minerva.

"Protego!" The Stunner dissolved as soon as it met her shield. "Pteropus Citatus!" With grim satisfaction, Minerva watched as endless bats erupted from her wand. She shouted "Oppugno!" and the bats descended upon Araminta in all its shadowy glory and number.

The other girl gawked at what seemed to be a rapidly approaching and screeching cloud of darkness, her composure resolving. Then, her face breaking into a truly terrifying mask of rage, she pointed her wand towards the bats and screamed, "AVADA KEDAVERA!" A bolt of bright green light caused several black forms to drop to the floor.

Minerva's hand flew to her mouth in an attempt to stifle a horrified gasp. Although the killing curse was not illegal when performed on animals, it was nevertheless very, very rarely used. Deciding that she must quickly finish the duel before Araminta lost her mind, Minerva yelled in a shaky voice, "Expeliarmus!"

Preoccupied with the bats, the Slytherin girl had no time to avoid her spell; in but moments, Minerva had in her hand two wands. She shuddered with relief; the abysmal duel was over. She waved her wand and the bats disappeared, leaving a very wild looking Araminta Black.

Minerva had always found Araminta to be on the creepy side. But right there, she decided that the girl was insane. After all, who in the right mind or conscience would use the Avada Kedavra in such a wild, haphazard, and dangerous manner? With an overwhelming sense of dread, she realized that it was her duty as a prefect to reprimand the other girl's behavior.

However, she was saved from the unpleasant task at hand when Slughorn rushed toward them, frowning so deeply that his thick straw-colored eyebrows seemed to merge into one. "Ms. Black, you've just earned yourself a visit to the Headmaster's office, and twenty points from Slytherin!" He dragged the girl away and sent her to the door.

When Araminta disappeared from the classroom, Minerva breathed out slowly and wiped at a sweaty brow. Straining her neck, she glanced over at the scoreboard. Araminta's name had faded from existence. With a grin, Minerva saw that her own name had been placed next to Li, Lan.

"Minerva, there you are!" Lan made her way toward her briskly. "I'm so glad it's you this time," she told her, making a face." I had to duel Mulciber on the last round. He got disqualified because he gave up and resorted to tackling me to the ground." The Chinese girl rubbed the back of her head tentatively, wincing.

Their duel did turn out to be very pleasant indeed. When Minerva finally obtained possession of Lan's wand, the girl smiled graciously and congratulated Minerva on her jelly-legs jinx.

The next duels quickly went by in a blur as Minerva faced opponent after opponent. As the rounds progressed, her opponents became more and more killed. The exchange of spells at times became so rapid that instinct and reflex often took over reason.

As she cast a Blasting Curse and claimed Avery's wand, Minerva was startled to realize that the room suddenly seemed empty. It seemed that in her preoccupation, almost everyone had been eliminated, for the sides of the room were now filled with whispering students. Minerva turned to her right just in time to see Tom Riddle inflict a truly potent Confundus Charm on Edmund Potter. His spell was so effective that poor Edmund swayed miserably, aimed his spell at the ceiling, and then collapsed onto the ground after tripping over his own feet.

"Expeliarmus!" Riddle grabbed Edmund's wand and the duel was over.

The sound of applause rang through the room. "Ah, very nice work, Mr. Riddle!" Professor Slughorn gushed fervently. "Never in all my years of teaching have I seen a student produce a stronger Confundus Charm! Very nicely done indeed, my boy!"

Tom declined his head and smiled gently, in all the appearance of modesty and graciousness. "You do my mediocre accomplishments great honor, Professor."

"None sense, my dear boy. None sense!" Slughorn waved an arm dismissively and laughed with delight. All around them, students watching from the sides cast Tom looks of admiration.

Minerva had to grudgingly admit that his skilled display of modesty and self-humility was convincing. But she knew by the subtle lift of the corners of his lips and the brightness of his eyes that Riddle was fairly pleased and triumphant. Her eyes met his. She raised a brow boldly. You don't fool me.

He merely gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"And now, what we've all been waiting for!" Slughorn announced grandly, rubbing his chubby hands together in glee. "A duel between my most clever students!" He winked at Tom and Minerva, smiling jovially. "Oh, this is going to be a pleasure to watch!"

Minerva felt her stomach lurch as a wave of vertigo hit her. She had dueled Riddle once last year. It was an experience she cared not to repeat.

Facing the tall, slender boy, Minerva saw by the tense set of his shoulders that he was determined to win.

Well, so was she—there's simply no way she'd tolerate a second defeat by him.

"Ready to lose?" Tom murmured softly so that only she could hear. They bowed to each other.

"In your dreams, Riddle," Minerva retorted as she rose and immediately pointed her wand at him. "Flagrium!" Flames rushed forward.

"Aguamenti!" A strong jet of water spurted from his wand and effortlessly extinguished the flames. "Serpensortia! Engorgio!" A terribly enlarged serpent slithered from his wand.

Minerva winced at the unpleasant sight of the giant creature. Then, struck by an idea, she grinned at Riddle. Closing her eyes in concentration, she envisioned in her mind, clear and strong, a noble lion with glorious golden mane.

Swift and flick!

And opening her eyes, she almost laughed with delight. Riddle's giant serpent had been transfigured into a lion. Laughter and whispers could be heard around the room.

Tom Riddle, however, remained confident and calm. He aimed his wand at the lion and shouted clearly, "Evanesco!"

To Minerva's annoyance, the lion disappeared. Another round of commotion shook the room.

"Did you see that? He managed to make the entire lion disappear! My vanishing charms can't even get rid of butterbeer bottles," someone whispered behind her.

Frowning with irritation, Minerva barked, "Furnunculus!" And off they went again.

Long moments later, when both had exhausted and used their knowledge of standard spells, they found themselves evenly matched, both determined and unwilling to give in. Panting, Minerva realized that she was exhausted. A glance at her opponent told her that Riddle was fairly tired as well.

Their eyes locked that moment, and somehow it was agreed without words that it was time to move beyond standard spells to the real challenge.

Gazing intently at his straight and well-shaped nose, Minerva aimed her wand at it and muttered a series of incantations. At her actions, his nose transfigured to a wooden substance and began to grow unstrained.

The room was in confused silence except for the wild laughter of several muggle-born students.

Minerva choked back her own laughter. She had heard about the story of Pinocchio from Arlene, who was muggle-born, during their first year. Since Riddle himself came from a muggle background, she knew he too would understand. She simply could not resist mocking his unreasonable hatred for muggles and fondness for deception in one blow!

However, Minerva began to regret her action when Riddle's face darkened ominously. His expression was woolen, but the hand gripping his wand trembled faintly. His gaze met hers once again, but this time she was thrown back by the utter loathing in those dark depths.

With cold grace, he waved his wand and cried, his voice smooth and cool, "Memoria Atrocisortia!"

Minerva frowned. What spell was this? She certainly had never heard, seen, or read of it before. With uncertainly, she was about to conjure a shield charm when a sudden bright flash clouded her vision.

Splitting pain began to fill her head. As she cried out in agony, she felt something crawl through her mind. And before she knew it, the classroom disappeared.

She now stood on a snowy mountaintop, the landscape around her both treacherous and awe-inspiring.

"Oh my! Jude, the view is majestic!" A woman's voice prompted Minerva to turn sharply to her left.

Struggling up the mountain were a man and woman. Both seemed to be happy and in high spirits. The woman's pretty wheat-colored hair whipped around her face freely and her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and the man next to her was strong and darkly handsome.

A yowling, screeching scream suddenly pierced through the quiet atmosphere.

Minerva's breath was caught in her throat when a dark shadow descended upon the landscape. She gazed up fearfully and saw shiny black and bronze scales and enormous wings.

The Hungarian Horntail landed with a deafening thud that shook the ground violently. The woman shrieked.

"Ariadne!" The man tried to drag the woman away—but too late. A gargantuan spiked tail came down toward the two figures rapidly …

Minerva covered her eyes and screamed.

"Expeliarmus!"

As her wand flew from her grasp, she realized she was back in the classroom once again. But her vision seemed oddly blurred, and the faces looking at her appeared to be horrified, sorry, and shocked. She raised a hand tentatively towards her face.

It was covered with tears.

A wave of embarrassment and humiliation hit her. She had never cried during her entire time in Hogwarts. Not when her Augusta had made a mistake during their first year and transfigured her hair to a nest of snakes. Not when a budger took her in the face in her second year. Not when a painful Frununculus curse hit her during her third.

But here she was, stern and bold Minerva, brawling her eyes out. Biting her lips hard, she glanced at Tom Riddle, expecting to see him triumphant and smug.

However, as he stared back at her, his eyes were clouded with shock and surprise.


AN: You know what to do: REVIEW! Thanks. And let me know if this story is too boring!

Just what the heck was the Memoria Atrocisortia? Find out on the next chapter.