The first thing I saw that morning was Goyle’s hand dangling from the next bed.
The second was my bag, with the notebook sticking out.
For a moment, I wanted to reach for it.
I didn’t imagine a signature had appeared on the page overnight.
Even so, I remembered the last sentence almost as clearly as if it were still in front of me.
*I never joked about his eyes again.*
Dumbledore had said my father’s eyes were similar.
It was an easy connection to make.
Elias had attended Hogwarts.
Someone might have known him, written something down, left a note between the pages of a book.
But I didn’t even know when it had been written.
In a castle like this, ‘old parchment’ could mean last year or last century.
I swung my legs out from under the covers.
Today, I had Charms, Transfiguration and flying.
That last word, in particular, helped me get up.
***
At breakfast, I spread my timetable beside my plate.
Malfoy sat opposite and immediately noticed what I was looking at.
“Have you flown before?”
I shook my head.
“Never?”
“Never.”
He reached for the jug.
“The important thing is not to grip the handle as though someone’s trying to take it away. The broom will sense you’re afraid.”
“What if I just don’t want to fall?”
“Then don’t fall.”
I looked at him over my plate.
“Helpful.”
He smiled slightly.
Blaise, who had just arrived, pulled out the bench.
“My uncle says the school brooms are older than some of the teachers.”
“Binns too?” I asked.
“I hope not.”
I folded the timetable.
Until now, when I’d thought about flying, I’d imagined wind, height and the castle from above.
The condition of the equipment had somehow escaped me.
***
Professor Flitwick greeted us at the door.
I had to look down to say good morning.
A moment later, when he climbed onto a stack of books behind his desk, the difference no longer mattered.
He spoke so animatedly that it was hard to look away.
Feathers waited on every desk.
I sat and touched mine with a finger.
An ordinary, light feather.
It slid across the desktop at the slightest nudge.
Soon, it was supposed to do the same without my hand.
I knew the spell’s name.
Its pronunciation.
I remembered the scene from the book and the film.
None of that made me any less eager to try.
“We’ll begin with the wrist movement,” Flitwick announced.
“No incantations just yet, please.”
He demonstrated.
We copied him.
The professor corrected a boy in the front row, then a girl by the window.
“More freely. A wand isn’t a poker; there’s no need to prise the air apart with it.”
Several people giggled.
I loosened my fingers.
When he let us combine the movement with the words, overlapping attempts filled the classroom.
“Wingardium Leviosa.”
The feather rose a few centimetres.
I stopped my wand.
It stopped too.
For a moment, I studied it closely, as though that might reveal a fine thread holding it above the desk.
I could make out a faint wisp of magic, but I didn’t need it to know what had just happened.
I raised the feather higher.
It hovered level with my face.
“Very good!”
I jumped.
The feather landed on my nose.
I heard Blaise laugh quietly.
I pulled it off before I could sneeze.
Flitwick smiled broadly.
“Five points to Slytherin. Now try putting it down, Mr Peverell. Slowly, until it touches the desk.”
I nodded and raised my wand again.
The second time, I managed not to lose concentration when the professor came closer.
The feather settled so gently on the wood that it didn’t even turn.
“Exactly.”
He moved to the next desk.
I looked at Blaise.
“Not a word.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I heard.”
He returned to his feather with an exceptionally innocent expression.
***
For the rest of the lesson, I practised moving the feather between two points on the desk.
Lifting it soon stopped being difficult.
Stopping exactly where I wanted was harder.
Once, I moved it too far; another time, it landed on my textbook instead of beside it.
Flitwick drew my attention to the end of the movement.
I adjusted it.
The difference was immediate.
I remembered Babbling’s lesson.
I’d listened as she explained that a spell didn’t end the moment you spoke its final syllable.
Here, I could see it on my own desk.
When the bell rang, I glanced automatically at the clock.
I couldn’t believe the whole lesson had passed.
“Can we keep them?” someone at the front asked, holding up a feather.
Flitwick gave permission.
I tucked mine between the pages of my book before I could decide it was silly.
***
A cat sat on the desk in the Transfiguration classroom.
I watched it from the doorway for a moment.
The cat watched me.
I sat down.
“What?” Blaise asked.
“Nothing.”
After my conversation with the Hat, I preferred not to find out how much a teacher in cat form could read from my face.
Most of the class had arrived when the animal jumped off the desk.
Before its paws touched the floor, McGonagall stood before us.
Someone gasped.
So did I, even though I’d known what I was about to see.
It happened too quickly for my eyes to follow.
For a fraction of a second, I saw magic thickening, then there was a robe, glasses and the professor’s face.
No slow stretching of limbs.
No wondering what ought to replace the tail.
Cat.
Human.
I sat up straighter.
I wanted to be able to do things like that.
“Transfiguration requires precision,” McGonagall began.
“You will follow instructions in the order given. If you don’t understand something, ask before casting.”
Her gaze passed over the class.
“And you will not practise on yourselves or one another.”
Blaise glanced at me.
I had no idea why.
***
After the demonstration came theory.
Quite a lot of theory.
McGonagall drew the wand movement, discussed the spell and explained what to concentrate on.
Only then did matches appear on our desks.
I picked mine up.
Examined the wooden stick and dark head, then put it back.
A needle.
That, at least, I could imagine.
Not just the shine.
The weight too, the sharp tip, the tiny eye at the other end.
The professor let us begin.
I made the movement and spoke the spell.
The wood turned silver.
The change ran from end to end so quickly that I almost missed it.
The match head narrowed, the surface smoothed.
A needle lay on the desk.
I leaned closer.
An actual needle.
It even had an eye.
“Already?” Blaise said.
I looked at him, then back at the desk.
“I think so.”
It didn’t sound particularly convincing, but I wasn’t sure I hadn’t missed some obvious flaw.
McGonagall appeared beside us.
“Don’t touch it yet, please.”
I drew back my hand.
She lifted the needle with a spell and turned it before her.
I waited for her to say the metal was only on the surface, or that the object was about to return to its original shape.
Instead, she placed it on the desk.
“A very good result, Mr Peverell. Ten points to Slytherin.”
Warmth rose in my face.
“Thank you.”
“Try again.”
A second match appeared on the desktop.
I looked at it with a broad smile.
Gladly.
***
The second needle came out a little longer.
On the third, I tried giving the end a decorative shape.
That was where things stopped being so easy.
The surface rippled, the shine dulled, and instead of a small ornament, I produced something resembling a crushed nail head.
I studied it.
It had looked better in my head.
“You changed what you were aiming for,” McGonagall observed.
I hadn’t noticed her return.
“I wanted to see whether I could put a pattern here.”
She examined it without touching.
“You can. But you must know precisely what pattern you want. ‘Something decorative’ leaves a great deal of room for an unsuccessful result.”
I looked at the crooked metal.
Apparently, I’d used all of it.
“First, establish a reliable transformation,” she added.
“Then we can work on modifying it.”
I nodded.
I made several more attempts before the lesson ended.
The ordinary needles grew more consistent.
Once the professor allowed us to inspect our results, I turned one carefully between my fingers.
It was cool.
Heavier than wood.
Made by me.
I could have sat there for a long time.
***
After lunch, we had some time before flying.
I left the Great Hall with several others from our year.
Malfoy was talking about his broom at home, and Crabbe was asking how fast it went.
I listened with half an ear.
The rest of my attention was on the needle in a small box at the bottom of my bag.
Throughout my previous life, I’d been surrounded by things I couldn’t make myself.
Now, after one lesson, I’d turned wood into metal.
I was wondering how long it would take me to make something bigger when I noticed a dark shape beside the stairs.
I stopped.
Someone passed on my left, knocking lightly against my bag.
“Coming?” Blaise asked.
“In a moment. I’ll see you before the lesson.”
He nodded and followed the others.
I looked back towards the stairs.
The wisp slid along the wall.
It resembled the one from the previous day, but was clearer.
For a moment, I saw the outline of a head and shoulder.
Then the shape stretched strangely, like a shadow across uneven ground.
I glanced at the students.
Nobody slowed.
I followed the wisp cautiously.
***
The second floor was quieter.
The shape vanished when I tried to look directly at it.
It returned at the edge of my vision, a few steps further on.
I didn’t know whether I was watching the same thing all along.
That didn’t stop me following it.
I passed a window and reached a bathroom door.
A girls’ bathroom.
I paused.
I knew this place from descriptions.
Or thought I did.
I looked at the door, then the empty corridor.
Second-floor bathroom.
Moaning Myrtle.
The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
Suddenly, this little excursion felt less innocent.
On the other hand, it was only first year.
I didn’t have the diary, didn’t speak Parseltongue and certainly wasn’t going to open anything beneath a sink.
I only wanted to see what had brought me here.
I pressed the handle.
***
Inside, it smelled of damp stone.
One cubicle door stood ajar.
A small puddle lay by the wall, and a tap dripped.
“Anyone here?”
An echo answered.
I couldn’t see Myrtle.
I took a few steps, staying close to the exit.
The magic around the sinks lay differently.
I couldn’t immediately say why.
Usually, I saw individual wisps lying over objects or disappearing into walls.
Here, several gathered in one place and turned sharply downwards.
My gaze moved to the stone base.
It had to be somewhere here.
The knowledge that I was really standing above the entrance to the Chamber tightened my stomach.
Too many things from books were ceasing to be merely things from books.
I wanted to step back.
Then I saw the figure.
It stood beside one of the sinks.
Dark, blurred, its head tilted at an angle I couldn’t explain.
It didn’t turn towards me.
“Hello?”
No answer.
I remembered the note.
*Traces.*
I took one more step.
***
The sound changed first.
The dripping grew louder, as though someone had turned on a tap behind me.
I looked back.
Nothing.
When I turned to the sinks again, the bright wisps had thickened.
They moved across one another, obscuring the stone.
I blinked.
The scene didn’t return to normal.
My eyes began to sting beneath the lids.
Enough.
I should leave.
I turned towards the door, but something enormous swept through the room.
I froze.
I saw neither scales nor a head.
Darkness rolled along the floor, too long and too fast to belong to a person.
Basilisk.
The thought was enough to make me squeeze my eyes shut.
For a brief moment, I heard only my breathing.
Then the fear became something else.
I was no longer wondering where the door was.
I knew I wouldn’t reach it in time.
I didn’t know how I knew.
My legs wanted to move, but I couldn’t force them to take a step.
My throat tightened so hard that my breath broke off halfway in.
I wanted to call out.
No sound came.
Something was close.
Too close.
I opened my eyes and saw the sink from a strangely low angle.
Only then did I realise I was sinking to the floor.
I grabbed at the stone edge.
My fingers slid across its wet surface.
“Stop…”
I didn’t know who I was speaking to.
The dark shape passed through me.
For a moment, someone else’s despair struck so violently that I forgot everything else.
It had no words, no image.
Only a desperate, broken wait for the next breath.
Then it let go.
My knees hit the floor.
Air tore painfully into my lungs.
I braced myself on one hand.
Water was dripping in the bathroom again.
***
For a while, I didn’t try to stand.
I stared at the wet stones beneath my fingers and breathed, though every breath felt too shallow.
Nothing moved.
There was no enormous body.
No figure by the sink.
If a basilisk had really passed that close, I wouldn’t be sitting on the floor now.
Probably.
That last thought made me try to get up faster.
My legs shook.
I had to lean on the sink.
Something warm ran down my cheek.
I touched my face.
Blood marked my fingers.
For a second, I just stared at it.
Then I leaned towards the mirror.
A thin streak ran from beneath my left eye.
The right was red, but dry.
“Oh, shit.”
I carefully pulled down the lower eyelid.
And regretted it immediately.
Pain shot through my eye to my temple.
I let go and began searching for a handkerchief.
I couldn’t find my pocket.
I knew where it was.
I used it every day.
Now my fingers caught in the folds of my robe, and getting angry with my own hands only made things worse.
At last, I pulled out the cloth and pressed it to my cheek.
I didn’t want to spend another moment alone in this bathroom.
At the same time, I was afraid to move away from the sink until my legs stopped shaking.
***
The bleeding stopped quickly.
I checked several times, pressing a clean part of the handkerchief to my face.
Then I washed with cold water.
I looked pale in the mirror.
My hair stuck to my forehead, and my left eye still burned.
I covered it with a hand.
I could see normally through the other.
I switched hands.
Tears blurred the image, but after a few blinks, I could make out a crack in the mirror and my reflection.
I lowered my hands.
The hospital wing.
I should go if the bleeding returned or my vision stopped being normal.
For now, the burning was slowly easing.
I clung to that with a relief I didn’t want to examine too closely.
I looked at the sinks.
The explanation came naturally.
But I didn’t know whether I’d seen her death or merely felt something left behind.
I hadn’t recognised a face.
Hadn’t heard a voice.
I hadn’t even seen the creature’s shape clearly.
Yet for several seconds, I hadn’t been able to breathe.
That much I knew.
I put away the handkerchief and left before curiosity could offer another reason to stay.
***
In the corridor, I stopped beside the wall.
Light from the window irritated my left eye.
I turned away and waited for it to stop watering.
Two girls came running around the corner, discussing an assignment.
One glanced at me but didn’t stop.
Further away, someone called to a friend.
I listened far more closely than other people’s homework problems deserved.
The voices helped.
I adjusted the bag on my shoulder.
Only then did I remember flying.
***
By the time I reached the grounds, the brooms were already lying on the grass.
I stood beside one.
Blaise turned towards me.
“You made it.”
“Yes.”
I squinted against the light.
“Everything all right?”
“I’ve got a headache.”
He studied me for a moment, then pointed at the broom.
“This one looks the least awful.”
I examined the worn handle.
“A convincing recommendation.”
Madam Hooch began spacing us out evenly.
She had short hair and yellow eyes that rested on each of us long enough to silence conversation.
I set my bag beside the others.
The cool air helped a little.
The pain had eased to a dull throb, though I still wanted to keep my left eyelid half closed.
“Hold your right hand over your broom,” the teacher instructed.
“And say, ‘Up.'”
I looked at the wood beneath my fingers.
“Up.”
The broom jumped into my hand.
I gripped it automatically.
Despite everything that had happened in the bathroom, I felt a brief spark of joy.
I lifted the handle.
I was actually going to fly on this.
***
Madam Hooch showed us how to sit and hold our brooms.
She walked between the rows, correcting our grips.
Malfoy was corrected almost immediately.
I looked at him.
He pretended not to notice.
At my station, the teacher told me to relax my shoulders.
I tried.
“Better. Let the broom carry you, Mr Peverell. You needn’t help it with your back.”
Several people laughed.
This time, I didn’t even mind.
At the signal, we pushed lightly off the ground.
My boots left the grass.
Only a little.
It was enough.
I tightened my grip, felt a slight tilt and immediately loosened my fingers.
The broom steadied.
I was hanging above the ground.
On my own.
For a few seconds, I forgot the bathroom.
Wind touched my face and stirred my sleeves.
I looked at my feet, then the castle.
I wanted to go higher.
I really, really wanted to.
A scream interrupted the thought.
***
Neville was already above our heads.
His broom jerked and shot upwards.
“Steady!” Madam Hooch called.
“Tilt the handle down!”
Everyone began talking at once.
Neville looked down.
I saw his hand slip.
“Hold on!” I blurted.
The broom twisted sharply.
He fell.
It happened so quickly that by the time my feet touched the ground, Madam Hooch was already kneeling beside him.
Neville groaned.
My stomach clenched.
I remembered this fall.
I should have remembered sooner, before actually seeing it.
Instead, for the past few minutes, I’d been occupied with my own hands and the small gap between my boots and the grass.
“Stand back,” the teacher ordered.
We obeyed.
She examined Neville’s wrist, then helped him up.
I only breathed out when he began walking beside her.
She forbade us to get back on our brooms and explained the consequences so thoroughly that it was hard to misunderstand.
I watched them head towards the castle.
Only after a moment did I notice Malfoy bending to pick something up from the grass.
***
The Remembrall gleamed between his fingers.
Harry recognised it at once.
“Give that back.”
Malfoy turned towards him.
“Longbottom dropped it.”
“Exactly. So leave it alone.”
Someone near our row snorted.
Malfoy turned the glass ball, clearly pleased to have attracted an audience.
“Perhaps he ought to look for it. It’s supposed to remind him of things, after all.”
Ron stepped forwards.
“Hand it over, Malfoy.”
I stood a little to one side, my broom resting against my shoulder.
A moment ago, we’d been watching someone with a broken wrist.
Now it looked as though several more students wanted to find out whether there was room for them in the hospital wing.
“Hooch will be back in a minute,” I said.
Malfoy glanced towards the castle.
Harry held out his hand.
“Give it here.”
Apparently, that was enough to make Draco choose the worst available option.
He mounted his broom.
Hermione immediately reminded him of the rule.
It didn’t help.
A moment later, Harry took off after him.
***
From below, everything looked much faster than it should have.
Malfoy rose with the Remembrall in his hand.
Harry followed without visible hesitation, as though he’d always known how to position himself on a broom.
Only moments earlier, I’d been proud of staying above the grass.
Watching him, I understood the difference.
Draco threw the ball.
Harry turned.
Someone beside me cried out.
I stopped breathing as Potter dived, coming dangerously close to the ground.
He stretched out his hand.
Caught it.
A moment later, he landed unharmed, the Remembrall raised in his hand.
Cheers broke out among the Gryffindors.
I found myself smiling.
That had been bloody good.
“HARRY POTTER!”
McGonagall’s voice cut across the grounds.
Harry’s smile vanished so quickly that I felt a little sorry for him.
The professor strode towards us.
Malfoy had already returned to the ground.
He stood with his broom, looking like someone who intended to speak only when spoken to for the next minute.
McGonagall took Potter back to the castle.
I watched them go.
Only when they disappeared through the doors did I hear Ron assuring Hermione that Harry had had to retrieve the Remembrall.
I didn’t have the energy to listen to the rest of the argument.
I sat on the grass beside my bag.
My left eye was beginning to hurt again.
***
That evening, I didn’t go to the seventh floor.
I ate less than usual at dinner, but drank two cups of water.
The noise of the Great Hall wore me out more quickly than I wanted to admit.
Back in the dormitory, I checked my eye in a small mirror.
No blood.
Less redness.
I put down the mirror and took the box with the needle from my bag.
I turned it in my fingers.
That morning, I’d been delighted to turn a piece of wood into metal.
Later, I’d almost forgotten anyone had taught me how.
I didn’t want the whole day to remain in my memory as nothing but a wet floor and blood on a handkerchief.
I put the box beside my textbook.
The feather was still between its pages.
For a moment, I considered taking out the notebook and describing the bathroom before the details began to fade.
But then I remembered my breath breaking off.
I closed the bag.
Tomorrow.
Today, I just wanted to sleep.
Footsteps and laughter drifted in from the corridor.
Someone entered the dormitory, opened a trunk and swore quietly while searching its depths.
I lay on my side.
My eye hurt less when I closed it.
I left the curtains around my bed open.