The Boy Who Cried Wolf

8 - Behind Closed Doors

(TW - violence, slight gore.)

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Late that night, as the castle slept, Goldie slipped out of the Slytherin common room. It was easy enough; Lysander was already gone from the dormitory, and nobody was awake elsewhere in Slytherin.

Dressed in the bare minimum of her uniform – shirt, tie, jumper and skirt – she padded silently through the eerie hallways of the dungeons. There was a faint rumbling outside of the walls, which she assumed was the currents of the lake lapping against the walls of the castle.

She gazed down at a scrap of parchment clutched in both hands. Riddle had given it to her; it listed directions to where he claimed he would speak with her in private. Apparently the gap beneath the stairs, not a soul within earshot, was not private enough for him.

Trying her best to navigate the Grand Staircase, she casted a disillusionment charm to avoid waking up the portraits. Making her way into the Astronomy Tower, she climbed halfway up, stepping lightly into a short hallway. A blank wall on the right faced the wall on the left, which was adorned with a tapestry of goblins who were attempting ballet.

While she stared in confusion at the odd tapestry, the blank wall began to open. Metal frames began to form from the cracks of the bricks, filling into double doors that opened outward. Riddle appeared in the doorway a moment later, gesturing with his head for her to follow. With her jaw slack in awe, she stepped inside, and the door returned to its hiding place within the wall behind her.

"What...?" She mumbled, stunned.

"This is the Room of Requirement." Riddle responded, anticipating her question. He led her through a narrow hallway as he explained. "It only appears to those in need, offering exactly what they need. I discovered it a few years ago."

"Does everyone know about this?" She gasped softly, running her fingers along the ridges of the wall.

"No." He shook his head. "A very small percentage of students. Professors keep it to themselves as well."

They emerged from the hallway into an open room. The walls, marble with faint blackened streaks, contrasted against mahogany wood panelling on the lower quarter. A few windows were concealed by royal blue curtains, most of the light in the room coming from lit candles around the corners. In the centre of the room, a short glass coffee table was surrounded by cobalt armchairs and sofas, fluffed to perfection. Two tall bottles of wine rested on the table; crystal glasses turned upside down beside them.

Riddle guided her to take a seat, choosing his own opposite her. She declined a glass of wine, mildly concerned that he was tolerating alcohol on a school night.

"Tell me." She demanded, leaning forward. "What did you see? About my family? I have waited all day, like you asked."

"Your mother was named Ariadne McCulain." He stated flatly, setting the bottle of wine back after not even pouring himself a glass. "A witch."

Goldie perked up in hope at the name – it was something to go on. "What else?"

"I learned nothing of her status or whereabouts." He kept his voice low and monotone, showing an abnormal lack of care for such a serious topic. "As you were in an orphanage, I assume she is dead."

She winced at the blunt statement, but it was not particularly surprising.

He continued, "I have reason to believe the family you stayed with knows more than they ever told you."

"What?" She scoffed, conflict racing through her thoughts. Why would her adoptive family not tell her anything they knew of her origins. "How?"

"I witnessed them speaking to another wizard about your backstory." He elaborated, attempting to discern her emotions from her expression. "You know of Grindelwald, I assume?"