THE STRANGE RIDDLE

WHEN DUMBLEDORE INFORMED THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC about the strange and unprecedented attack on Diagon Alley, the ministers were stunned by its brazenness. An assault on the busiest area of the British wizarding world—especially in the morning when students were preparing to depart for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—was a matter that demanded immediate and serious attention, particularly about strengthening security measures.

The Transfiguration professor based on the information he gained from the two students gave an essay to the Ministers instead of Tom and Althea. He did not want to delay them from starting their year with an affair as Grindelwald and his followers' whereabouts. Even though he touted that the ministry's trust and reliability were unshakeable, he had doubts. And Grindelwald's plans of destruction were uncertain.

The Alliance had started becoming bloodthirsty and the members of it inflicted pain not because they were following the commands of their leader, but because Grindelwald's absence had made them a mere menace who plotted and acted out of spite without instructional plans. Grindelwald at this point seemed that he only needed time to make his next move, without caring if his acolytes were one step before destroying the world.

Althea's father from the other side was rawer than Dumbledore. The inability of the ministry infuriated him and when he spoke about the safety of his daughter he could be a beast. The Alliance was a fool to strike again on the Lynch family, this was his declaration. Maximilian talked about a conspiracy that targeted now his daughter as if it was not enough the fact that they murdered Penelope Lynch, his beloved wife. However, Lysandre Silkwood, the former minister of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement guaranteed that such actions are not valid. He even doubted if these wizards were members of the Alliance.

"Perhaps some burglars?" he said then "We had several reports the past months about a small clique that commits several crimes in neighborhoods of London,"

Althea doubted if this was the case, but could not so easily again be sure that this attack had to do with the Alliance. In the end, all the ministry managed to do was to post guards on the streets of Diagon Alley and issue an arrest warrant as soon as a suspect fell under the suspicion of one of the guards. They assured Maximilian Lynch that there was no reason to fear for his or his daughter's physical integrity.

The two students left for school the next day, a little late, but justifiably so. The train to Hogwarts was scheduled to make one more run for Tom and Althea and even though the entire train was empty, Tom Riddle preferred to sit alone in a carriage at the other end of the train. Althea had offered to talk to him that day, but the boy acted as if she did not exist which made her extremely uncomfortable with him and herself.

Again, for the best student at Hogwarts, he was boorish and extremely eccentric.

"Better for me. I do not like company in narrow and small places,"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

   THAT DAYS EVENING ALL EYES WERE ON HER.

"Lefkothea Lynch,"

Thousands of pairs of eyes followed her figure like bees, which liked to attack her for her rich mush. Hogwarts was not familiar with new students it seemed, but Althea was either with being around in so many people. Floating candles were caressing her face with warm busses, while their xanthic bodies embraced her in tones of hospitality.  Her eyes had been examining the area the past few hours— Hogwarts was built upon a steep peak with a rockbound basis on the bottom, while a lake was spreading around it. It was overlooking the Black Lake as a tutelary, a saint. It was tall, of a Romanesque but also Gothic architecture surely, with grand towers and windows and thick stone walls. Columns adorning the forecourt area, which led to where the classrooms should have been.

Faintly she could distinguish from afar the Cuillin Hills.

She had read about the Scottish Highlands as a dreamy but also hazardous place. Cuillin Hills were located in a place where the edges of the mountains were miserable, ready to take their own life if it could be stated, with steep terrains and craggy foothills. Despite the physical dangers that someone could face, in the forests of these Hills, creatures were threatening to be the last sight of some muggles and wizards who dared to step on their land.

Some could lure them to the abyss. Others liked to be suddenly playing with the lives of their victims by asking riddles. The Bean-Nighe was a death omen, while Baobhan Sith was no different from the first one, with the only exception being that the second was prettier to trick unaware men.

Nevertheless, Althea was no man to be thoughtful about these creatures and the only thing she was now anxious about was to which house she was about to be sorted. The Great Hall had four large tables full of students of her age, younger and older, every single one of them with the characteristic emblem of their house.

Gryffindor was the house of crimson red and gold of a lion's fur, with people brave to the core and rebels, who would not waste any moment longer for them to not fight for the people they deeply care about. Gryffindors were true leaders. The lion was the symbol of their strength and courage.

Hufflepuff was the house of loyalty and perseverance. Maybe the most jolly house of the four of them, as the yellow that dominated its flag was similar to the sun which gives hope and a warm feeling. A badger may seem small and innocuous, but they hide strength and have tenacity. The black details were there to remind that even in light hard times can be difficult, but not inevitable.

Ravenclaw's table was dyed in a deep royal blue tone with bronze highlights. The characteristic animal of the house was an eagle, an animal known for their sharp vision and often associated with intelligence. Therefore, Ravenclaw's students were intellectuals, with mental acuity and a strong desire for knowledge. Her cousin Cassiopeia Greengrass was in this house.

The last house her eyes landed on was the one Althea had the misfortune of learning about long before setting foot in Hogwarts: Slytherin. Its students sat with meticulous precision, backs straight and heads held high as if no one dared to break the rigid, serpent-like order of their perfect constellation. They were like true aristocrats. Emerald shimmered in their eyes and cunning as a snake she could distinguish from afar Tom Riddle whose eyes followed her as she made her way in front of High Table, where her future professors stood.

The Great Hall was like a royal court with the Headmaster Dippet being the king and the faculty his subjects, while the students were the castle's knights. Althea felt like she was a new competitor, someone who had come to steal something and Riddle was staring at her as if she was a thief, like she had committed vile crimes.

Professor Albus Dumbledore was sitting right next to Dippet on his left and after he gave her a warm smile Althea felt a little bit more comfortable than previously.

Althea with a sigh sat in the chair where the Sorting Hat was about to predict her placement.

Slytherin is a demanding house. For quite intelligent and cunning people who have goals to achieve, Riddles's voice was heard on her mind and her eyebrows knitted.

The ragged hat touched her hair and immediately a strong voice was heard, noticeable only to her "Ah, it is been a while since I have been so torn about a wizard or witch of Greek descent. You have ancient blood coursing through your veins, or perhaps none at all. You possess a certain charisma, and I do not believe Hufflepuff quite suits you. Your ideals are... different, more pronounced. Bravery, though, is not among them. You were once courageous, but it seems your soul has slipped into oblivion. You are sharp-witted, and your mind is keen enough to navigate danger and find solutions in the most trying of circumstances,"

The perfect match for Slytherin. But I do not think that anything you learned in your house can exceed my knowledge and skills, his words echoed and Althea cursed under her breath for the persuasion of his words. He could not define her and if her place was in Slytherin after all he should accept it.

"Ravenclaw is close to you, but your destiny is not aligned with knowledge only, because I can see that you have another purpose for coming here. You have unworldly powers and that defines you. Not the words this boy told you,"

"Can you hear me?" she whispered amazed.

The hat mocked "Silly girl, I can hear everyone. We can not make your placement wait any longer. You better be in— SLYTHERIN!"

The Great Hall broke in millions of applauses and Althea stayed still for a moment. She was sorted into the Slytherin House, the house one day ago she had so badly marked as a squalor.

Lynch made her way up to her peers, while two girls made a place for her to sit.

Her cousin would not be pleased with her sorting. But she was sure that her father would be proud that his daughter was on Slytherin.

The Slytherin table was lined with students who, as she had previously observed, stood like true aristocrats. Slytherin was home to the descendants of esteemed English wizarding families, and Althea could easily see how much these children revered their pure-blood heritage. Such hollow ideologies, planted by their parents, served as a veil over any sense of righteousness they might have possessed. The Greek witch did not doubt that these people did little more than spiral into decadence and ruin.

In terms of ideology, Althea was worlds apart from those she sat with, but when it came to intellectual superiority and pride, they were on equal footing. She had just as many opportunities, perhaps even more, than her classmates. Althea had connections within the Ministry, thanks to her parents. She was the daughter of an industrialist, which meant even the Muggle ministries owed her father favors. Ministers, parliament members, fellow industrialists, intellectuals, and creatures of all kinds.
  
Anything she desired was within reach.

She slowly turned her head, sensing a pair of eyes fixated on her more intensely than the others. The only mark left on Tom Riddle's porcelain face from the previous day was a faint scar on his nose, which he had likely tried to erase with spells. Riddle sat casually in his seat, but his eyes were tense. As soon as Althea realized he was staring at her, he did not avert his gaze.

The witch had no idea how many seconds passed as their eyes danced in a throng of emerald petals, but after a moment, a kind, almost deceptive smile curled on his lips as he lifted his goblet in a silent toast, welcoming her to her new House.

She did the same. His tone infuriated her and Althea was not fond of criticism. She had always been meticulous in her studies, never wanting to disappoint anyone and now a boy because he felt threatened was trying to bring her down.

The academic ascension was not an option for her. Althea had been told all her life that her purpose was to be excellent at everything and never give up trying to pass the path of success.

She never found it strenuous or as if her parents were enforcing it on her. She knew that it would be a shame if the daughter of an industrialist and the descendant of a Greek pureblood family failed to establish herself in the world of magic.

If something seemed impossible, she would find a way to make it possible.

If she lacked a skill, she would relentlessly pursue it.

If her knowledge began to fade, she would fight to keep it alive in her mind, determined never to let it slip away.

And if Riddle thought that he was superior to her and even with her arrival in Hogwarts he would surpass her, then Althea had to find a way to eradicate him.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

      BY THE END OF SEPTEMBER, THE MONTHS' warm breeze bid its deepest farewell to the Scottish land, signaling the definitive end of summer. The reins now belonged to winter and as its grip tightened, the weather grew harsher with each passing day, pulling the land deeper into its cold.

Althea back in London was not used to such low temperatures, but as her curriculum was becoming more demanding each day the chilliness was not something she paid much attention to. Despite that, she still had as a main target to be a thorn in Tom Riddle's side through her academic performance. With the days passing she realized that Tom Riddle was simply the seeing one among the blind.

She had noticed that many of her classmates were indifferent to their studies. Some of them had other worries to deal with as war and famine. Education was becoming a secondary priority. Not all of Hogwart's students were rich or financially stable enough to not worry about what was happening around them.

Riddle seemed to be the most focus of all. Attentive to his studies and more organized than Althea. During the lessons, he participated with his hand always raised as if he had been anchored. He answered almost directly to questions posed to him, to the point that sometimes everyone else didn't have time to think about them. He knew everything and Althea confessed to saying that on the face of it, he was a brilliant mage who was simply disrespected, as his conceit trumped any sensible feeling.

However, even the most magnificent and expensive sculptures can conceal deep cracks beneath their marble surface. It's as if some elements of the project, like misaligned tectonic plates, did not quite merge the way they were intended to.

Tom Riddle was a theorist and he had an academic understanding of his subjects, while in practical matters he seemed more obtuse. Not that much, but this was his only flaw that she could distinguish.

She first noticed this during a Slughorn's lesson when Tom struggled to boil a potion properly, despite having flawlessly recited all its functions, side effects, and ingredients just moments earlier—earning Slytherin an extra 10 points for his impressive knowledge. Althea understood everything Tom had explained, but she could rephrase it in her way, sometimes forgetting to stress certain details. Despite Tom's confidence, he managed to finish his potion second, while Althea crafted a flawless potion in just only five minutes.

A similar incident occurred during the spells and transfiguration class. Tom could not transform a turtle into a pig as quickly as Althea had done.

With the days passing Althea was becoming more and more popular for her abilities and knowledge. Already in the hallways of Hogwarts whispers echoed that the Greek witch was the only one that could compete against Tom Riddle with ease.

Althea was aware of this from her roommate in the Slytherin dormitory, Dolce Bagshot, who informed her about these rumors.

"A ruckus, I have to say, entangles your name with perfection, dear,"

Dolce Bagshot was a discrete young witch. Althea knew that because her roommate was behaving like a wraith. She could swear to Merlin's snowy beard that Dolce never snored... or at least make any noise while sleeping. She played violin and Althea sometimes studied while she was exercising in the background. She would read books in her free time and frequently ask for Althea's help regarding her studies.

"Pardon me?

"Oh, do not feign humility, Lynch. Even Riddle has become frightened by the thought of you exceeding him. And the students relish to see both of you in the arena,"

Dolce spoke at a painfully slow pace as if burdened by a deep sense of ennui. Her voice was always monotonous, and she moved with the lethargy of someone perpetually unhurried. That night, she lounged on the emerald sofa in their room, draped over its arm with her back against one end and her legs dangling over the other.

"Nonsense!" mumbled the witch. "I happen to know other well-regarded students who deserve the title. My cousin, Cassiopeia Greengrass, for example."

Dolce did not reply to that.

But since then Althea could not get this influence she certainly had on him out of her mind. The boy never had any serious competition and when it came from a woman it certainly ate his insides and hurt his male ego.

She could not say for sure that he was a misogynist or anything, because while she had gradually learned within Hogwarts that he was the most secret desire of all the girls, although she had never seen him associate with any of  them. Perhaps he already had a partner and no one knew that. Althea did not care that much to learn about his romantic interests.

The only thing that mattered at that moment was to finish the essay she had to hand in by the deadline for the Care of Magical Creatures lesson.

The library was quiet that night, rare occasion, because the room was not only Althea's favorite one but also that of the whole school. After all, how could it not be?

The scent of burning candles mingled with the rich aroma of mahogany, instantly reminding her of home. It was the fragrance of her family's library, where the soft traces of old paper lingered in the air. That familiar blend made her yearn for the house she grew up in, for her father, and for all the comforting details she had known for so many years.

She had chosen to sit at the end of the library to be more isolated from the rest of the world. Not that she had a problem with her classmates, she had just been socializing way above normal lately. She needed a moment of peace.

Hogwarts' routine was tough, so different from her house's curriculum. Now she had to be punctual to the deadlines her professors would give and also there was no place for irregularities. She had no one to forgive her for her mistakes or wait for her to catch up. So this was a challenge.

Her poor hair had become like the branches of a very old willow tree, tangled curls that were jumbled together in rhythms of paranoia. Her eyes were slowly closing and the dark circles decided to make their appearance slowly. She was tired, but Hogwarts rewarded her for her consistency.

The small table beside her was weighed down by a stack of books, and she sat quietly in her everyday clothes—a brown sweater layered over a white shirt, paired with a long black skirt. A ribbon was tied in her hair, a black one that perfectly matched the rest of her subdued outfit.

Next to her, she had a bottle of ink for her pen to write her essay about the characteristics of a flobberwarm; the ugly worm-like brown creatures, whose only usage was for potion making and nothing more.

The library was quiet that Friday evening and Althea could only count two or three more students with her in the room. Her desk was facing the window opposite her, so it was not easy for her to see if at any moment she was left alone.

Her essay was already done and as she read it for the second time she felt relieved that her efforts were remunerated. It was a good one and she hoped that her professor would praise her for her work. Also, she was sure that Professor Kittleburn would give extra points to her house as the information she had included in her essay was from a book that she had read several times at home regarding flobberwarm's development. To be fair the author of the book had gifted it to her family as a collectible edition.

However, someone behind her tripped over the table and knocked over some books, disturbing the quiet of the room. Althea turned to look at the source of the sound and found herself looking at a crouched Tom Riddle picking up a pile of books he had dropped on the floor.

His movements were awkward as he first realized that the Greek witch was looking at him but as soon as he felt her eyes on him he blanched and his features hardened. He gently laid the books on the table and cleared his throat.

It had been a long time since these two had spoken to the point that Althea would almost forget that he and her had gone almost a month ago through an adventure, which could be characterized as a terrifying attack.

"Miss Lynch," his first gesture was a soft bow after that he then placed his hands behind his waist "I am afraid I disturbed your tranquility,"

Althea blinked perplexed. He seemed to be more polite than before and the honey-sound voice of his made him seem like he had just transformed from a lake monster to a magnificent black swan.

His hair seemed hilarious to her mind because its color and shape reminded her of the Caracactus seaweed; a powerful herb that was used as an ingredient to brew hazardous poisons that could easily make their drinker lose the ability to breathe oxygen for several minutes, something which leads to literal lung-explosion. However, this type of seaweed is scarce.

After a deep breath, she responded, gifting him her one very smile "Not at all, Mr. Riddle. It was getting late and I am aware that at any time student's whereabouts at Hogwarts are prohibited,"

Althea did not lie at that; indeed since she had finished her essay, the library, except the fact that it was smothering her with hospitality, had no sit for her anymore.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed "It seems I have caught you at just the right moment!"

His posture stirred her curiosity about the purpose of his visit; he leaned ever so slightly forward as if anticipating the right moment when time might ease its pace, granting him the chance to voice what truly lay on his mind.

Perhaps all that sense of compliment was a cover to make him appear more friendly.

But suspicion is a spurious material for building relationships with people, especially with her classmates.

"To what I own this visit, Mr. Riddle?"

She motioned for him to sit down and Tom went straight to the chair across from her "First of all I would like to offer you a sincere apology for my behaviour earlier this month. It is been a... bad day and I certainly should not take it out on you,"

"Secondly I would like to congratulate you on your performance at Hogwarts. I confess to say that we rarely have such brilliant students. Forgive me for misjudging your abilities,"

The suspicion still lingered within her, but even if he was pretending, Althea had to admit that he was doing so quite eloquently. His stare never faltered, giving no hint of deceit and reflecting a convincing sincerity. The eyes are the mirror of someone's soul, their true essence, and probably the only evidence of human nature.

However, in Riddle's eyes, it reigned a flux; a mix of ebb and flow, with thousands and myriads tiles of seafoam floating around his iris in harmony and patience. Sometimes colliding with each other and other ones embracing each other in tight hugs.

"Your speculations proved to be untenable," she said thoughtfully "But I am more than pleased that you can recognize your mistakes, Mr. Riddle,"

"I ought to be fair,"

His hands were rested now in front of him, pale, and by noticing the color of his nails, which was a mix of blue and purple shades, she could say that the boy was freezing to the core.

I ought to be fair, he said with intensity and Althea lingered a little bit more than usual to this statement. It sounded like it came from an older judge than someone of his age.

"Forgive me if this seems impolite, but I do not quite understand the purpose of your visit, sir," Althea said.

Tom regarded her for a moment before replying. "I have a theory, one I can only share with you," he said, moistening his lips. "I shall do my best to be clear—Miss Lynch," he paused "I do not believe the Alliance was truly responsible for the attack that day."

Althea answered swiftly, "Well, they could have been some mere burglars, as the Ministry suggested."

"The Ministry is a façade," he retorted, his tone sharp. "I trust none of those old bums, and I am certain there is more going on."

"We live in dark times, Mr. Riddle. The real absurdity would be the Ministry being brutally honest with us about what is truly happening," Althea whispered as her body leaned closer to him, glancing around to see if anyone was listening.

The boy did not seem to listen to her, because he quickly grabbed his handbag from his side, taking out a huge book whose cover was ragged and utterly destroyed by the passage of time. Althea watched him bewildered as she began searching on the page he seemed to look for and then he pointed with his finger the looked-for image.

The image was faded and what Althea could make out was what looked like a round seal with a huge sun on the middle, with its rays making a swirling pattern which was extended until the circle was complete. There were also some letters that Althea could not read clearly.

"What does that mean?" she asked him.

"That day, those men wore a pin on their cloaks. I hadn't noticed it much until I came across this book of various symbols around the world,"

"I continue not to understand,"

For a moment he seemed to lose his temper, but then he took the book and read to her the text beside it, "The Mark of Pyrfyrlorn is a relic of antiquity. Esteemed scholars of yore once wielded it as a token of wisdom, a modest means to acknowledge one another's presence in the pursuit of knowledge. However, over the years, powerful men have perverted its meaning, transforming it into a symbol of dominance. They bring mayhem at us wizards and witches, burning us to the core with only our ashes sound as a miserable ode of blood and fire,"

The candle next to Althea flickered with a sliding-creepy sound and she directly muttered a quiet prayer.

"Strange," she monologued, "Do you believe that these men have connections with witch-hunting activities?"

Under the book was a newspaper that Tom had not previously shown to the girl.

"The Daily Prophet turns a blind eye to the matter. Everyone behaves like nothing is happening,"

The newspaper's publisher was not well known, as Althea did not even recognize the name. The Whistling Blackbird was the name and when Tom had given her to read the article her blood froze and even if one moment before she was laughing at his theories, now it was terrifying.

The article detailed how almost over one hundred witches and wizards a month are disappearing from various parts of the United Kingdom, while at places around the world, improvised wooden structures appeared previously inflamed with the remaining being analyzed as... flesh and bones...

Althea could not read the notes that the publishers made because the evidence was too descriptive. However, she could recognize the same symbol, the Pyrfyrlon Seal, being imprinted on the wooden planks of every structure. Sometimes clearer and other times faded and lost, as the flames had disfigured it.

"No one has mentioned about these terrible events," Althea commented.

"They are scared of the mass's reaction. Such a case would leave the ministry exposed and would certainly raise suspicions that the wizarding world is again in hazardous times,"

"This is impossible! And the International Statue of Secrecy—,"

"No international institution can prevent darkness, Miss Lynch,"  Riddle spoke calmly drawing the witch's attention with the melic tone of his voice

It seemed like a nightmare for these witches. The witch trials were a cruel and unforgivable mistake of muggle society Althea could never understand why something so sickening would ever happen.

She had not heard many stories from her grandmother about these historical events, but over the years she learned and studied the stories of these women. Many had survived through elaborate spells and had told their stories for the old to remember and the new to learn. Some of them were tragicomic— witches pretending to be burnt to the core, while they were creating an illusion for the muggles to see. But sometimes the stories that did not consist of the burning procession, but instead the hanging method were more gruesome than the former.

In this case, death was inevitable.

Althea let a repressed sigh escape her lips "Even if you are right, I do not see how can I be useful here. This is Ministry's matter,"

Riddle lowered his head, a movement which reminded more of a small bow than an action of bewilderment. Yet, behind the candle's light, he appeared utterly mesmerizing— Althea could tell that he was in an ineffable denial because his eyes were focused on the small patterns the table they were sitting made, while his lips made shapes, like the changing of the clouds, trying to voice his thoughts, but without finding the right ones to do so.

His stoic features softened and then did the same all over again. Riddle behaving like a porcelain mannequin, which was ready to come alive from death, was not something Lynch would have predicted when she first met him.

"I dare to confess that I underestimated you. My interactions with you this month have made me see that you are a great witch who deserves to be in Slytherin. And since you were the only one I could trust with the above information, I thought we could delve a little deeper into this,"

His words impressed her, yet her reply came with her stare being unyielding and at the same time unbreakable, as if she had not heard his compliments in depth. "Together?" she almost scoffed "Thank you kindly, but I am afraid I must decline. Truly, I understand the gravity of the situation, but I do not believe it is any of our concern,"

Althea was not the type of a person who would be fond of stories of adventure and even more with someone she had no trust with. It was not only that Riddle had treated her so badly that day, but also because something was utterly wrong with the boy.

If eyes were the mirrors of the soul then Althea was not sure what defined Tom's; they were always as cold as a swamp that had been frozen forever, their insides hiding stories of witches drowning babies or travelers being pulled in by monsters to welcome them into their world. Secrets of the abyss that even the gods dared not utter.

She had a bad feeling about him. An irritation in her guts that bothered her was a warning sign of any mayhem to come with this boy.

And as if all this was not enough, instead of being angry with her he smiled broadly "Do not worry. I understand you,"

Did he?

He rose from his chair quietly, with a smile still plastered on his lips and a humble bow to her, wished "Have a quiet night,"

After he left she noticed that the inkwell next to her had fallen, having as a result her essay was destroyed.