Entry tags:

chapter, g, gildy, ron/hermione

Act I: Would you like an autograph, by the way?
Title: Riddle
Pairing/Character: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Gilderoy Lockhart, and a young Viennese maid named Alda
Rating: G
Wordcount: 3,220
Summary: Part II: It's late summer 1997 and in the search for the remaining horcruxes Ron, Harry, and Hermione are at Grimmauld Place hoping to find information about the locket. During their research Hermione accidentally happens upon something quite different. Something which takes Hermione and Ron to St Mungo's on a visit to Gilderoy Lockart still in the Janus Thickey ward, for now!
Beta(s): For this part I am immensely grateful to manynames for her impeccable placing of all things 'punctual', especially my speech marks, and to chocolate_limes for perfecting Gilderoy's bouncy diction!
Author's Notes: In response to millieweasley's Harry Potter History Challenge **here**. I'm taking some of our HP friends back to Vienna, 1786. It's terribly brave of my volunteer history advisors to allow me to take this on, I'm not too sure whether they'll encourage me back another time however! Link to Part I **here**, Part III **here**, Part IV **here** and Part V **here**.





Part II of V - Riddle: Would you like an autograph, by the way?

“So,” Hermione was telling Ron and Harry as she buttered her toast, “I need to check out Wandering with Werewolves, but –“

“Lockhart?” asked Harry inquisitively.

“Who else?” grunted Ron.

“And if I’m right.” Hermione tried to ignore them both. “Lockhart claimed to have saved a whole village from a pack of werewolves.”

She shrugged scornfully. That was just typical of Gilderoy Lockhart to exaggerate the information like that. Werewolves just didn’t roam in packs, after all, though there was no need to go into that, the three of them knowing better than most about the finer details of the behaviour of a werewolf, having seen one at first hand and become firm friends with him since.

“This is important why?” asked Ron, his voice less than enthusiastic. Why was Hermione talking about Gilderoy Lockhart? Surely after everything that had happened she’d realised what a fake he was?

“Because if my memory does serve me right then the village, and if you’d read the prescribed reading in second year you’d know too, should be in Armenia.”

“Yerevan?” asked Harry, lifting his mug and sipping at the hot brown liquid contained within. Lying in his bed last night, Harry’s thoughts had constantly wandered back to Armenia and Yerevan. It sounded like just the sort of place where Voldemort might have spent time. There were so many years during which the whereabouts of his adversary weren’t accounted for after all. What if Voldemort had been there? What if he had been there and left a horcrux there? What if the person who’d written the notes, who’d also maybe had the locket, had been able to place Voldemort in the village without any doubt?

“No. I’m pretty certain that Yerevan is the capital city of Armenia. The village that Lockhart talked about was totally different. Small, surrounded by woods; it had no plumbed water and no electricity.” The village, as Hermione recollected, was unnamed in the text. That was something she intended to double check later when she could get sight of a copy of the book.

Harry, Hermione noticed perked up, “Go on.”

The new information was feeding Harry’s thoughts even more. No running water, or power. That would mean poor people, people who would have no method of contacting authorities if things went wrong, possibly not even noticing the comings and goings of someone like Voldemort. Something deep inside of Harry was telling him that Hermione was onto something. If he could only retrieve the locket, which he was now determined to do as quickly as possible, then they could maybe go there, to Armenia and find out more about the place.

“Did you see the sketch on the piece of paper that had the word Yerevan written on it?” Hermione asked her voice a little more animated now, fuelled by the interest she was receiving.

Harry and Ron both nodded.

“Loads of trees that were drawn the way Ginny used to draw when she was about four.”

“And a camp fire type thing,” Harry added. He’d noticed that and thought about an old film that Aunt Petunia had watched one rainy Sunday afternoon when Dudley and Uncle Vernon were out doing their boys’ things. Harry had sneaked into the doorway and watched over her shoulder. The camp fire was the centre of the small village that featured in the film, the meeting place. It signalled so much more than a place where people kept warm; it was like the heart of the group of people. Somewhere to go to talk, to share.

“And a box with a cross in it that could well be something that we need to know about,” Ron added, having noticed that more than anything else.

“And some more writing that we need to decipher as soon as possible too, especially if we want to find out where this place is,” Hermione replied, having nodded to all their other points, “In fact, I’m going off to the library straight after breakfast. Did you two have plans?”

***

The morning in the library went quickly. Hermione had visited the Muggle library close to St Pancras, going to Flourish and Blotts to check the Lockhart text on the way. She had been right, there was no mention of the actual name of the village, just a few words about how remote it was, how long it had taken him to get there from the capital city Yerevan, and how lucky it was that Lockhart happened upon the village at just the right time. Just imagine the carnage if my travels hadn’t caused me to tread that sorry little path. Yes, Lockhart, just imagine, Hermione reflected with a wry smile.

Returning to Grimmauld Place, Hermione considered what a wasted morning she’d had. The library had been of very little help. The scribbled words that looked like Van and Arm followed by a squiggle hadn’t brought up anything at all when referenced in the books.

“There’s only one thing for it,” Hermione announced to two startled looking faces as she Apparated into the kitchen, “I’m going to have to visit the man himself.”

“Lockhart?” asked Harry, incredulously.

Hermione pretended not to hear the groan from Ron, “Lockhart,” she confirmed, “But there’s no need to come with me if you don’t want to. I’m sure I’ll be safe on my own with him at St Mungo’s.”

As it happened, Harry’s new determination to find the locket had resulted in his own plans to visit Hogsmeade that afternoon. Owls back and forth to The Hog’s Head suggested that Mundungus Fletcher would actually be there on this very day, assuming he didn’t change his plans again at the very last minute.

Waiting until Hermione had disappeared upstairs for a short while, Ron took the opportunity to check with Harry that he’d be fine on his own in Hogsmeade, not wanting Hermione, safe or not, to go to St Mungo’s alone. Not with that buffoon, he’d said. You never knew quite what would happen when around him, after all.

Holding Hermione’s hand as they walked along the fourth floor corridor wasn’t entirely for the benefit of romance, Ron admitted to himself. He could still remember the tirade of abuse about his freckles he’d received from the portraits last time they’d wandered along here.

“Would you like an autograph?”

Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand at the sound of the familiar voice coming towards them and dropped it gently, “Looks like we’re here Ron. Let me do the talking, yes?”

That was no problem as far as Ron was concerned. Spending any time with this blithering idiot was bad enough, having to talk to him magnified that over and over.

“As long as I don’t have to have his autograph,” Ron whispered as they walked through the doors to the Janus Thickey ward.

“Ah, you’re here.”

Hermione nodded and smiled as if this was an arranged visit, “Yes, Professor.” If she could humour him then perhaps she’d get somewhere in conversation.

“And how many would you like today? Three? Five? Seven? As many as you like,” He reached for some signed photographs, his teeth glinting and hair perfectly presented and passed the moving and smiling signed photographs to Hermione.

“Thank you. How are you, Professor?” Hermione carefully replaced the autographs back on the pile before sitting down on one of the seats by the side of Lockhart’s bed.

Ron grimaced at how nice Hermione was being. It was bad enough that they’d had to come here. He couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t like Lockhart was able to tell them anything after all.

“Oh I’m fine. Nothing can wipe the smile off this face, you know.” As if to prove it, Lockhart grinned winningly towards Hermione who smiled back.

“Now, why are you here? Is it for my autograph?” He reached towards the pile again.

“Oh yes please,” Hermione answered holding out her hand, “And to ask you a question about one of your books.”

“Books?” Lockhart asked, “Books? I have books?”

“You’re an author,” Hermione confirmed looking warningly towards Ron who had developed what she could only term an undermining grunt, “With many published works.”

“Am I? How wonderful! Tell me more … Am I famous?” Before Hermione had chance to answer Lockhart started talking again, “Of course I am. That’s why I get so many Owls asking for autographs! Oh. If you’d like one, please do ask. I’m sure I can spare one for you. I’m famous you know!”

“Do you remember going to Armenia, Professor?” Hermione asked, realising she was more than likely wasting her time. She just had to do something though, and asking Gilderoy Lockhart questions was about the only thing she could think of right now.

“Armenia, hmmm …” Gildroy repeated. “Am I famous there? Do they want my autograph?”

“You wrote Wandering with Werewolves there.”

“Where?” Lockhart jumped up, knocking a small pile of surprised autographed photos to the floor as he did, and shouted out, “Where? Healer … healer .. quickly. There’s a werewolf. QUICK.”

Ron groaned audibly this time, much to Hermione’s consternation. If only she’d have realised their former Professor would react like that. They’d heard the stories, of course, that Gilderoy Lockhart had made huge improvements, that his memory was starting to return. There had even been something in the Prophet, that probably few had taken little notice of, about him signing autographs for charity and raising more galleons than anyone else towards the particular cause through his pursuits.

“No, it’s okay. There’s no-one here. Not apart from Ron and I, and we’ve come to see you, for an autograph, and to ask you a few questions.”

“Healer, healer. QUICK,” Lockhart repeated to be rewarded with the sharp clip-clip of her heels as the Healer walked towards them.

“Hush,” the Healer suggested after hearing the patient tell his story and then smiled understandingly to Ron and Hermione, “There’s no werewolf here. Just you and your friends and me right now. Look around, we’re all alone.”

As if behaving himself impeccably, Lockhart made a dramatic point of looking around, “So we are. There’s no need to worry, I’ll look after you all. Everything’s fine. You’re all safe with me! I’m famous you know. Have an autograph.”

“Fraud,” Ron muttered as Hermione kicked his ankle.

“You don’t remember going to Armenia then?” Hermione started again, turning to smile at Lockhart.

“For the riddle?” he asked.

“Riddle?” Ron repeated, shrugging slightly and his voice containing a tinge of disbelief.

“Yes, riddle,” Lockhart askedl “You go to Armenia for the riddle. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“What riddle is that?” Hermione asked, a little interested but wondering why the curiosity had piqued in her at that particular time.

“Riddle of the brainless,” Ron muttered under his breath, “That hurt!” He moved his ankle: Hermione’s aim was accurate and her kick quite forceful.

“The riddle,” Lockhart repeated, as if they should know what he meant, “I got it of course – straight away! Not many do, you know.”

“What riddle is it, Professor?” Hermione asked kindly, her eyes catching Lockhart’s gaze and holding it.

“Hmmm?” he asked, as if the thought had been dismissed with the exchange of looks, “What riddle is what?”

“The one that only you got straight away,” Ron tried to help out, being rewarded with a glare from Hermione.

“Oh, that one, you should have just said. I’d not have minded! Why don’t you follow me now? I’ll show you. Come on, you’ll want your cloaks it can get cold!”

Looking uncertainly between Ron and the door where the Healer had once again disappeared, Hermione reached for her cloak. It wouldn’t hurt to humour Professor Lockhart just a little. No harm could come to him if both she and Ron were there, after all. Hopefully by the time they’d moved even a few feet from the bed, the Healer would be back to lead him to it once more and all would be well.

“You’re not to tell anyone though,” Lockhart said in a loud stage whisper as they began to follow him, his own cloak actually a dressing gown, rather fancy, which he’d taken from the end of his bed.

Ron had noticed the garment with its frills and flounces earlier and now sniggered as Lockhart slipped his arms into the long flowing sleeves in his favourite baby blue colour.

“Typical,” he muttered behind Lockhart’s back and then a little louder, “Oh don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone. Anyone at all.”

“It’s not far,” Lockhart announced, having smiled towards Ron at his assurance and then turning to check that Hermione and Ron were with him, “Just through here. Come on! You’ll be fine. After all, you’re with me! What harm could possibly come?”

“Oh that’s really comforting,” Ron muttered as Hermione jabbed him firmly in the ribs with her elbow.

“It’s nice to see you, sir,” A young girl was standing before them, smiling towards their former teacher.

Ron looked towards Hermione and then blinked rapidly two or three times. The voice they’d just heard, or that he’d just heard anyway, was quite different to anything he’d heard before. Or was it? The accent was vaguely familiar.

“Thank you Alda,” Lockhart replied to the girl who had appeared in front of them, “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, sir. Thank you for asking. It’s very kind of you, sir, I’m sure.”

“Hermione,” Ron whispered, reaching for her elbow, “What’s happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione replied, looking around. A few moments ago they’d been in the secure ward at St Mungo’s and she’d been trying to ask Gilderoy Lockhart about Armenia, and now they were somewhere totally different, “Try and remember where we’re going, so we can get back if we need to.”

“And your friends, sir, I’ll take care of them too.”

“Thank you Alda, I knew you would,” Lockhart bent in a sweeping mock bow towards the girl who then smiled and flushed.

“Aww, sir, you certainly know how to make a young girl blush.”

“I’ll leave you to do that, Alda, while I find out what I can do for his Majesty. I’ll catch up with you all later. Alda will take care of you for now.”

With another mock bow, Gilderoy Lockhart swept off, his baby blue dressing gown now looking rather regal in their plain surroundings.

“Come this way sir and madam,” Alda instructed setting off along a narrow and dark corridor before finally opening a door, “This will be your room. I’ll come back for you later and take you to rehearsal.”

“Ow!” Ron lifted his hand to his head and rubbed it, “The doorway isn’t very high, is it?”

“No, Ron,” Hermione looked around the small and austere room, “It wasn’t, was it?”

“Hermione.”

As the door to the corridor shut, Hermione looked back to Ron, “You should come and sit down, Ron. Let me check your head.”

“What did she mean this will be our room?”

“Your head,” repeated Hermione and gestured towards the side of the bed, “Let’s check it first. Worry about that later.”

Those very words were repeating inside Hermione’s head. If this was to be their room, then they weren’t expected to leave quickly. Or were they?

“It could be somewhere to just keep out of the way until Lockhart is ready for us.”

“Or he could have trapped us here, to stop us asking him irritating questions, Hermione.” Ron closed his eyes for a moment as Hermione’s fingers worked through his hair, “That’s nice you know.”

“Yes? Then it’s official that there’s no permanent damage,” she confirmed, moving to sink beside him, the pair of them slipping back and falling onto the bed.

In silence for a while, each looked around the room. It was small, not much bigger than the bed they had fallen back onto. Looking to her side, towards the foot of the bed, Hermione could see a dark wooden stand with a ceramic bowl and jug standing on it. To the right was the chair she’d nearly bumped into when they’d first come in. There was a small window high up on the wall, hardly any light was coming through. And, Gilderoy Lockhart was right, it was cold.

“This bed is a bit odd,” Ron suggested bouncing slightly, “It’s lumpy. Hang on, I’m going to get my wand and check it out in some proper light.”

“No! No, don’t. Not yet, let’s think first. We’re not in St Mungo’s any more, I’m sure of that. The girl, Alda, who knew Lockhart, wasn’t British, she had more of a German accent. This doesn’t even look like the twentieth century Ron. I don’t think we should use any magic until we know that it’s safe.”

“Hermione. What do you mean safe?” Ron asked, his voice doing the irritating squeaking thing he thought he’d outgrown in at least the fourth year.

Hermione shuffled onto her side facing him and reached for his hand, “We don’t want some foreign Ministry hit wizards sweeping down on us at the use of magic in a Muggle place, do we? Let’s just check out we’re not the only ones here first. We can look for clues when Alda comes back and takes us to rehearsal, whatever that is.”

“Okay,” Ron gulped, “That sounds sensible. But if something happens, Hermione, then nothings going to stop me protecting y-,” he changed his mind quickly, “protecting us. Okay?”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, bouncing lightly, “This bed is strange you know, you’re right. It’s sort of crunchy.”

“Crunchy, like straw or something.”

“Yeah, just like straw. Where do you think we are?” Hermione’s mind was whirring, attempting to piece together any clues. Straw mattresses were something from hundreds of years ago, if her memory wasn’t playing tricks with her old history lessons. There was no electricity in the room, water was provided in jugs. But that was true of Hogwarts as well, of course.

“More to the point when do you think we are?” Ron replied, “Because I think one thing’s for sure, this isn’t 1997 any more.”

It wasn’t long before the sharp rap on the door told them of Alda’s return and the time to try and find out some more information if they could, particularly something that was playing on Hermione’s mind, Lockhart’s words about riddle. What did he mean? The obvious thing was the type of riddle which came on pieces of paper in Christmas crackers. But that wasn’t just it, there was a meaning of the word that was far more exciting to Hermione: Riddle as in Tom Riddle, the forerunner of Voldemort. What if Lockhart hadn’t always been such a fraud? What if he knew something and they could find it out?

That thought had never occurred to her before. Gilderoy Lockhart was too young, to start with. Even though he was obviously too vain to publish his age, or allow his date of birth to be known, it was obvious by looking at him that he was not much different in age to perhaps Remus or Snape.

“Ssssh, now,” Alda instructed them as she hesitated in front of a large white door before letting them through, “Rehearsal is nearly finished. Take a seat somewhere at the back and try not to be noticed or I’ll be in trouble, I will.”