Amy Tippin
Cadet
Hello everyone! I've never shared any of my fanfics before (since I've never finished any), but I was thinking about actually finishing this one if feedback was good. Here's the first chapter...please don't be afraid to tell me what you think, as I am rather new to all of this!
Title: Riddles (as of now…)
Based on: Harry Potter, after “Order of the Phoenix”
Rating: PG (so far)
WARNING: Spoilers! Please don’t read unless you’ve already read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix or don’t mind being spoiled, as this fanfic contains spoilers!
Note: I’m assuming any readers of this fanfic are already fans of the series, and therefore already have a basic knowledge of the world of Harry Potter.
Please read and review! Reviews are helpful to all fanfic authors! (^_^)
Chapter 1---Sorting
Harry James Potter could hardly believe he had lived long enough to make it to his 6th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was amazing enough when he reflected on his five years spent at the school: every year had brought him closer and closer to what seemed to be an inevitably violent death at the hands of the darkest wizard ever to walk the earth, Lord Voldemort. Yet somehow Harry had always managed to do something his parents hadn’t—escape, although not always unscathed. At the end of his 4th year at Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort, or “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named” as he was more commonly referred to as, had risen once again, and it wasn’t until the end of his 5th year that the wizarding world finally accepted this dreadful fact. His 5th year at Hogwarts had been the worst Harry had to admit. For the majority of the year he was seen as a kind of crazy loon who, in order to gain more attention, had made up the fact that Voldemort had returned to power. On top of that, his Godfather and one of his best friends, Sirius Black, was killed by one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. It had been a long, depressing year for Harry. But still, he hadn’t been able to contain his excitement for the summer to be over when he would escape the prison that was his Aunt and Uncle’s house and climb aboard the magical train to Hogwarts, the only place he felt he truly belonged.
For the first time in his wizarding career, Harry’s trip to Hogwarts was without incident. He secretly wished this to be a good omen, that his 6th year would be not only uneventful, but also without any near-death experiences. But he knew better—after all, any validity he had seen in omens before coming to Hogwarts had been destroyed by his divinity teacher, Professor Trelawney. That, and Voldemort was sure to try and kill Harry again. He seemed to have made it a lifetime goal of his. Not that Harry blamed him when he really thought about it. After all, the prophecy had stated that either Harry must kill Voldemort, or Voldemort must kill Harry. At the moment, Harry put his money on Voldemort.
But Harry was trying not to dwell on the fact that a most powerful dark wizard was trying to kill him. He had more important things to think about, like the upcoming school year. And Quidditch. Actually, mostly about Quidditch.
“It was probably because of Quidditch that you didn’t get the highest grade on all of your O.W.L.S,” Hermione, one of Harry’s best friends with brown, frizzy hair and thoughtful brown eyes, explained as they sat in the Great Hall awaiting the arrival of the first years. The red-haired boy next to her scowled before speaking.
“You say that only because you got Outstandings on all of yours. Besides, Harry couldn’t play Quidditch last year, remember? That horrid woman Umbridge made sure of that. I still have no idea how we managed to win the Quidditch cup without him. I certainly wasn’t any help.” Ron was Harry’s other best friend, a member of the very large, and very red-headed, Weasley family. Last year Ron had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team as keeper, and had fretted all summer in his letters to Harry about the upcoming Quidditch season. Harry had been Seeker on the team since his first year, but had been banned from playing last year when a most evil woman named Professor Umbridge had temporarily taken over as Headmistress of Hogwarts.
“How can you say that, Ron? It was your first year on the team! Now that I’m back I can help you train. Even Fred and George admitted you had great potential!” Harry objected, playing with the silverware set in front of him. His stomach growled rather loudly and he wished more than anything at the moment that the first years would hurry up and arrive and be sorted so they could eat.
“I just buckle under pressure, Harry…it’s not a matter of knowing how to play, or lacking the skills. I just can’t play in front of people!”
“You might try a confidence potion. It’s said to help cure stage fright,” Hermione suggested, glancing at the door hopefully, “I’m sure it could help you on the Quidditch field!”
“I need a miracle potion is more like it,” Ron muttered, picking up a knife and engaging Harry in a miniature fencing match.
“Oh look, guys! Professor McGonagall and the first years are coming!”
Hermione was right—a crowd of youngsters entered the Great Hall led by Gryffindor House’s Head of House, Professor McGonagall. The first years gazed around the room, all of their mouths in an “O” shaped position, clearly in awe. Harry had to admit that the Great Hall was impressive, especially the ceiling, which was bewitched to look like the sky outside. Harry examined each first year, trying to remember if he was ever that small—he was sure he wasn’t. There was a girl with shoulder length blonde hair who looked as if she might faint at any moment. Next to her was a short freckled boy who was struggling to hide behind the other students in the middle of the group. Harry’s mouth suddenly dropped open. At the end of the group stood a very tall, very lovely girl who couldn’t have been any younger than Harry himself. Her long black hair ended in curls half way down her back, and full, red lips accentuated her pale, perfect skin. Harry couldn’t help staring. Following his gaze, Ron’s mouth promptly dropped as well.
“She can’t be a first year, can she? I don’t recognize her at all…but wow!” Ron whispered to Harry, leaning back in his chair to get a better look. Harry didn’t answer, still unable to tear his gaze away from the girl. She followed the first years with her head down, until she passed Harry and raised her eyes. Harry met her gaze. Several things happened at once.
At first all he could think of was that he had never seen such green eyes before. In fact, he had never seen green eyes in his life. Then a memory flashed in his mind, of cruel green eyes and pale skin. He had seen eyes that color before…a long time ago…
And then his head split open. At least, that’s what it felt like to Harry—he had a hard time remembering the last time his scar hurt as much as it did now. His scar, the only remaining evidence of Voldemort’s failed curse upon him, which had lately served as a kind of link between them.
Harry almost fell out of his chair.
“Harry, are you okay?” Ron asked, concerned, no longer looking at the girl who seemed to be attracting stares from other students as well. Hermione looked around frantically.
“It’s your scar, isn’t it? Where’s Dumbledore?” Harry closed his eyes tightly, his hand clutched to his forehead, dimly aware that those around him were now watching him with interest. He straightened up slowly.
“I-I’m fine.” Hermione looked at him oddly. “Really, Hermione. Now that Vol—”, Harry paused when Ron started to flinch, “now that he’s back it’s bound to hurt more often. We already discussed this.” Hermione looked as if about to argue, but stopped and turned her attention to the front of the hall, where the sorting hat had finished singing its song.
“Each first year should step forward and place the hat on his or her head when called,” McGonagall said, now holding the hat and standing behind a very old-looking three-legged stool. “Avery, Patricia.” The blonde-haired girl stepped foreward, now pale and trembling, and sat on the stool. McGonagall lowered the hat on her head, which promptly shouted “Hufflepuff!”
Harry tried to focus—not only was his scar still burning, but his vision was blurred. He tried to figure out if any emotion was linked to the pain, as one usually was, but felt nothing. What had caused his scar to react so violently? Was it possibly that girl? Harry lost himself in his thoughts as McGonagall continued calling names, ignoring the concerned looks Hermoine and Ron were wearing.
Harry shook his head and the pain started to fade. His vision focused and he could see Ron staring at him. “Are you sure you’re okay, mate?”
“Fine…” Harry mumbled. He’d talk to them about it later.
“Riddling, Julia.” The mysterious girl shuffled forward, her head held high as if daring anyone to say anything. Harry noticed a flurry of motion over by the Slytherin table and noticed Malfoy whispering in Crabbe’s ear. He turned his attention back to the girl. She sat on the stool and gazed out at the house tables, a solemn expression on her face. The sorting had seemed to consider for a moment, and then opened it’s mouth as if to speak, but stopped. A minute passed in silence, the girl’s face unchanged.
Then 5 more.
It had now been 10 minutes since the girl named Julia had sat in the chair.
McGonagall seemed distraught, and made a movement to remove the hat, but it chose that moment to speak.
“Slytherin!”
The Slytherin table erupted in whispers as Julia climbed off the stool and marched over, searching for an open seat. Some hurried to make space for her. Others tried to scrunch together to prevent her from sitting next to them. She passed Malfoy and paused for a moment, as he was motioning for her to sit down next to him. Then, much to Harry’s surprise (and everyone else’s), she turned away and sat on the very end of the table, far from everyone else. Malfoy and his cronies gaped McGonagall cleared her throat.
“Miss Riddling is, quite obviously, not a first year. She will be entering her 6th year at Hogwarts, and has thus far been home-schooled. I trust you will all give her a warm welcome and show her around.”
“Seems kind of snobbish to me,” Hermione whispered to Ron and Harry. “But then again she was placed in Slytherin.” Harry smirked.
“Either snobbish or very smart to avoid sitting with Malfoy.”
“I don’t remember the sorting hat ever taking that long to sort, do you?” Ron whispered back, staring at his plate with hope and then sighing as McGonagall called out yet another name. Harry continued massaging his scar.
“I don’t either. It took a couple minutes to sort me, but nothing like that…” Harry turned in his seat to get a glance of the girl as the students started eating. There was something odd about that girl…something almost ominous. He couldn’t shake the feeling he had seen those green eyes before, only in a very different, very pale, and very cruel face. Harry’s attention, however, was very quickly diverted to the feast that appeared moments later on the table, and he pushed all thoughts of the mysterious Riddler girl to the corner of his mind.
Harry Potter, however, was very much so on the thoughts of the mysterious Riddler girl.
Title: Riddles (as of now…)
Based on: Harry Potter, after “Order of the Phoenix”
Rating: PG (so far)
WARNING: Spoilers! Please don’t read unless you’ve already read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix or don’t mind being spoiled, as this fanfic contains spoilers!
Note: I’m assuming any readers of this fanfic are already fans of the series, and therefore already have a basic knowledge of the world of Harry Potter.
Please read and review! Reviews are helpful to all fanfic authors! (^_^)
Chapter 1---Sorting
Harry James Potter could hardly believe he had lived long enough to make it to his 6th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was amazing enough when he reflected on his five years spent at the school: every year had brought him closer and closer to what seemed to be an inevitably violent death at the hands of the darkest wizard ever to walk the earth, Lord Voldemort. Yet somehow Harry had always managed to do something his parents hadn’t—escape, although not always unscathed. At the end of his 4th year at Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort, or “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named” as he was more commonly referred to as, had risen once again, and it wasn’t until the end of his 5th year that the wizarding world finally accepted this dreadful fact. His 5th year at Hogwarts had been the worst Harry had to admit. For the majority of the year he was seen as a kind of crazy loon who, in order to gain more attention, had made up the fact that Voldemort had returned to power. On top of that, his Godfather and one of his best friends, Sirius Black, was killed by one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. It had been a long, depressing year for Harry. But still, he hadn’t been able to contain his excitement for the summer to be over when he would escape the prison that was his Aunt and Uncle’s house and climb aboard the magical train to Hogwarts, the only place he felt he truly belonged.
For the first time in his wizarding career, Harry’s trip to Hogwarts was without incident. He secretly wished this to be a good omen, that his 6th year would be not only uneventful, but also without any near-death experiences. But he knew better—after all, any validity he had seen in omens before coming to Hogwarts had been destroyed by his divinity teacher, Professor Trelawney. That, and Voldemort was sure to try and kill Harry again. He seemed to have made it a lifetime goal of his. Not that Harry blamed him when he really thought about it. After all, the prophecy had stated that either Harry must kill Voldemort, or Voldemort must kill Harry. At the moment, Harry put his money on Voldemort.
But Harry was trying not to dwell on the fact that a most powerful dark wizard was trying to kill him. He had more important things to think about, like the upcoming school year. And Quidditch. Actually, mostly about Quidditch.
“It was probably because of Quidditch that you didn’t get the highest grade on all of your O.W.L.S,” Hermione, one of Harry’s best friends with brown, frizzy hair and thoughtful brown eyes, explained as they sat in the Great Hall awaiting the arrival of the first years. The red-haired boy next to her scowled before speaking.
“You say that only because you got Outstandings on all of yours. Besides, Harry couldn’t play Quidditch last year, remember? That horrid woman Umbridge made sure of that. I still have no idea how we managed to win the Quidditch cup without him. I certainly wasn’t any help.” Ron was Harry’s other best friend, a member of the very large, and very red-headed, Weasley family. Last year Ron had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team as keeper, and had fretted all summer in his letters to Harry about the upcoming Quidditch season. Harry had been Seeker on the team since his first year, but had been banned from playing last year when a most evil woman named Professor Umbridge had temporarily taken over as Headmistress of Hogwarts.
“How can you say that, Ron? It was your first year on the team! Now that I’m back I can help you train. Even Fred and George admitted you had great potential!” Harry objected, playing with the silverware set in front of him. His stomach growled rather loudly and he wished more than anything at the moment that the first years would hurry up and arrive and be sorted so they could eat.
“I just buckle under pressure, Harry…it’s not a matter of knowing how to play, or lacking the skills. I just can’t play in front of people!”
“You might try a confidence potion. It’s said to help cure stage fright,” Hermione suggested, glancing at the door hopefully, “I’m sure it could help you on the Quidditch field!”
“I need a miracle potion is more like it,” Ron muttered, picking up a knife and engaging Harry in a miniature fencing match.
“Oh look, guys! Professor McGonagall and the first years are coming!”
Hermione was right—a crowd of youngsters entered the Great Hall led by Gryffindor House’s Head of House, Professor McGonagall. The first years gazed around the room, all of their mouths in an “O” shaped position, clearly in awe. Harry had to admit that the Great Hall was impressive, especially the ceiling, which was bewitched to look like the sky outside. Harry examined each first year, trying to remember if he was ever that small—he was sure he wasn’t. There was a girl with shoulder length blonde hair who looked as if she might faint at any moment. Next to her was a short freckled boy who was struggling to hide behind the other students in the middle of the group. Harry’s mouth suddenly dropped open. At the end of the group stood a very tall, very lovely girl who couldn’t have been any younger than Harry himself. Her long black hair ended in curls half way down her back, and full, red lips accentuated her pale, perfect skin. Harry couldn’t help staring. Following his gaze, Ron’s mouth promptly dropped as well.
“She can’t be a first year, can she? I don’t recognize her at all…but wow!” Ron whispered to Harry, leaning back in his chair to get a better look. Harry didn’t answer, still unable to tear his gaze away from the girl. She followed the first years with her head down, until she passed Harry and raised her eyes. Harry met her gaze. Several things happened at once.
At first all he could think of was that he had never seen such green eyes before. In fact, he had never seen green eyes in his life. Then a memory flashed in his mind, of cruel green eyes and pale skin. He had seen eyes that color before…a long time ago…
And then his head split open. At least, that’s what it felt like to Harry—he had a hard time remembering the last time his scar hurt as much as it did now. His scar, the only remaining evidence of Voldemort’s failed curse upon him, which had lately served as a kind of link between them.
Harry almost fell out of his chair.
“Harry, are you okay?” Ron asked, concerned, no longer looking at the girl who seemed to be attracting stares from other students as well. Hermione looked around frantically.
“It’s your scar, isn’t it? Where’s Dumbledore?” Harry closed his eyes tightly, his hand clutched to his forehead, dimly aware that those around him were now watching him with interest. He straightened up slowly.
“I-I’m fine.” Hermione looked at him oddly. “Really, Hermione. Now that Vol—”, Harry paused when Ron started to flinch, “now that he’s back it’s bound to hurt more often. We already discussed this.” Hermione looked as if about to argue, but stopped and turned her attention to the front of the hall, where the sorting hat had finished singing its song.
“Each first year should step forward and place the hat on his or her head when called,” McGonagall said, now holding the hat and standing behind a very old-looking three-legged stool. “Avery, Patricia.” The blonde-haired girl stepped foreward, now pale and trembling, and sat on the stool. McGonagall lowered the hat on her head, which promptly shouted “Hufflepuff!”
Harry tried to focus—not only was his scar still burning, but his vision was blurred. He tried to figure out if any emotion was linked to the pain, as one usually was, but felt nothing. What had caused his scar to react so violently? Was it possibly that girl? Harry lost himself in his thoughts as McGonagall continued calling names, ignoring the concerned looks Hermoine and Ron were wearing.
Harry shook his head and the pain started to fade. His vision focused and he could see Ron staring at him. “Are you sure you’re okay, mate?”
“Fine…” Harry mumbled. He’d talk to them about it later.
“Riddling, Julia.” The mysterious girl shuffled forward, her head held high as if daring anyone to say anything. Harry noticed a flurry of motion over by the Slytherin table and noticed Malfoy whispering in Crabbe’s ear. He turned his attention back to the girl. She sat on the stool and gazed out at the house tables, a solemn expression on her face. The sorting had seemed to consider for a moment, and then opened it’s mouth as if to speak, but stopped. A minute passed in silence, the girl’s face unchanged.
Then 5 more.
It had now been 10 minutes since the girl named Julia had sat in the chair.
McGonagall seemed distraught, and made a movement to remove the hat, but it chose that moment to speak.
“Slytherin!”
The Slytherin table erupted in whispers as Julia climbed off the stool and marched over, searching for an open seat. Some hurried to make space for her. Others tried to scrunch together to prevent her from sitting next to them. She passed Malfoy and paused for a moment, as he was motioning for her to sit down next to him. Then, much to Harry’s surprise (and everyone else’s), she turned away and sat on the very end of the table, far from everyone else. Malfoy and his cronies gaped McGonagall cleared her throat.
“Miss Riddling is, quite obviously, not a first year. She will be entering her 6th year at Hogwarts, and has thus far been home-schooled. I trust you will all give her a warm welcome and show her around.”
“Seems kind of snobbish to me,” Hermione whispered to Ron and Harry. “But then again she was placed in Slytherin.” Harry smirked.
“Either snobbish or very smart to avoid sitting with Malfoy.”
“I don’t remember the sorting hat ever taking that long to sort, do you?” Ron whispered back, staring at his plate with hope and then sighing as McGonagall called out yet another name. Harry continued massaging his scar.
“I don’t either. It took a couple minutes to sort me, but nothing like that…” Harry turned in his seat to get a glance of the girl as the students started eating. There was something odd about that girl…something almost ominous. He couldn’t shake the feeling he had seen those green eyes before, only in a very different, very pale, and very cruel face. Harry’s attention, however, was very quickly diverted to the feast that appeared moments later on the table, and he pushed all thoughts of the mysterious Riddler girl to the corner of his mind.
Harry Potter, however, was very much so on the thoughts of the mysterious Riddler girl.
