Are there any photographs of you?
Diana’s sloppy scrawl was soon contrasted by meticulously elegant cursive. Perhaps, but you needn’t waste your time searching. I’ll show you.
Diana didn’t know if the diary could see her expression, so she tried not to gape at the sketch; apparently, artistry could be added to Tom’s many talents. But the professionalism of the drawing came second to the thought occupying the larger part of her mind: Tom Riddle was stunningly attractive, possibly even on par with River Phoenix.
You look really nice. Then, flushing, she scribbled, It’s a nice picture. Once you get out, you should go to art school.
The sketch gave a small half-smile, and Diana’s heart fluttered. Even if I possessed the desire to attend a Muggle institution, I fear my level of artistic ability would hardly be enough to grant entry. Luckily, I have other interests and pursuits.
Like genocide?
The sketch dissipated. What?
Diana stifled a groan. Whenever she found herself getting comfortable, the guarded, ladylike Diana Malfoy disappeared, replaced by bumbling, socially-incompetent Diana White. I meant it as a joke, like how Hitler couldn’t get into art school. But now I’m realizing it was probably very offensive, especially since the war was going on when you got trapped in the diary. I’m really sorry, Tom.
I wasn’t offended, merely taken aback. Whatever happened to him, anyway?
Diana tried to remember. I think he shot himself in a bunker.
Dying like an underground rat instead of going out in a blaze of glory? Fitting.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she scribbled in frustration, I still can’t believe the wizards just let all those people get sent to concentration camps. And they didn’t help the Allies fight at all! If Hitler conquered Britain, surely that would affect them, too?
I’m sure a few wizards attempted to help in secret, especially Muggleborns. But the Ministry had a strict policy of nonintervention unless wizarding society itself was threatened, which even extended to students. In fact, during the holiday I was sent back to London during the months of the Blitz.
Diana clenched the quill so tightly, she thought it would snap. That’s awful.
Perhaps you view it as such, but it reinforced two important lessons. The first was that one ultimately must rely on himself and no one else, something already known from my time in the orphanage. The second is that to wizards, witnessing Muggle conflicts is akin to watching chimpanzees fight in the wild. There’s no benefit for higher beings involved; at best, they’d end up covered in animal filth. If I wanted to remain safe, I needed to take matters into my own hands.
I need to prioritize my safety as well, Diana added. But is it really possible to do everything alone? I want to avenge my mum, but I don’t know if I could do that alone.
Allies can be useful, provided you maintain a healthy emotional distance. I take it you’re wondering about the upcoming meeting?
Diana’s stomach flip-flopped. Though she hadn’t been successful in encouraging Harry to attend the Student Association meeting, Hermione somehow found out and latched onto it with the intensity of kneazle pouncing on a rat. Adamant that she, Diana, and Harry attend for the “educational benefits,” she achieved the impossible in convincing Harry to attend based on how the Student Association allegedly offered summer programs and other opportunities in the wizarding community during the summer holiday.
I am. I’m hoping the people there might be able to help me, though I’m not sure how. She paused, then added, Help me with my father, not the Obscurus stuff.
Thoughts of the Obscurus sank her spirits and caused a spike of anxiety at the possibility any ‘long-term planning’ might be for naught.
I hope your endeavors are successful. And if you ever reconsider your thoughts on the roosters, please let me know. I’d hate for something unfortunate to happen to you.
I will. A smile tugged at her lips. You’re way too nice for a wizard.
You’re not the first witch to tell me that. Stay safe, Diana.
****
Despite Draco’s sneers and Ron’s eyerolls and the titters of their Slytherin classmates, Diana, Harry, and Hermione finally ventured to the Muggle Studies classroom being used to house the meetings. Despite what the purebloods believed, the students in this classroom didn’t seem like revolutionaries clamoring for the guillotine. They talked, laughed, and leafed through books and newspapers, only stopping to whisper and stare curiously upon Diana and Harry’s arrival. Penelope immediately broke conversation with a bespectacled Ravenclaw girl and hurried over to them, eyes sparkling.
“Oh, I’m so pleased you came,” she gushed. “From our last conversation, Diana, I was under the impression you and Harry weren’t interested. Am I right in assuming your Slytherin classmates played a role in that decision?”
“Um,” Diana began, cheeks heating. “N-no, Harry and I were just curious about some things…”
Penelope’s eyes latched onto the sullen black-haired boy. “Of course, of course. I also realize, Harry, that in retrospect, you might be confused why we extended you an invitation. You see, even though you’re not Muggleborn, you were raised and grew up among Muggles, so I’m sure you must have sympathy for their systemic mistreatment.”
Harry’s lips thinned, and Diana rushed to do damage control. “He wants to know about the jobs.”
“Oh.” Penelope blinked in surprise. “Well, yes, the Student Association can help you make job contacts, especially if you wish to pursue a career in the Muggle world.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Is that even possible?”
Diana remembered Grayson saying he did work in a lab, but doubted all wizards who abandoned wizarding society had traumatic, faith-shaking experiences like his. “It’s easier to have an advantage over Muggles than a social disadvantage over Purebloods we face here,” explained Penelope, “so it’s not particularly uncommon. But the Ministry has the arrogance to look down on those who do, as if they aren’t the reason so many prefer to leave! And there are whispers of legislation being passed that require check-ins for those who abandoned wizarding society, and possibly even mandating their wands be snapped. There’s always some injustice to fight, and that’s why our Association is important.”
Hermione and Diana nodded, but Harry’s expression was neutral. “...I heard there were jobs students could do, not just adults,” he finally said, eyes glancing up hopefully. “The ones during the summer. I know it’s the beginning of the year, but I was wondering if I could sign up early.”
“Oh, those jobs. I admire your initiative, Harry, but they’re only for fifth-years and above.”
Harry’s expression instantly fell, eyes clouding. Either oblivious, or simply choosing to ignore, Penelope plowed ahead. “There’s so many people who’d love to speak with you. Janice!” She waved her arm and the brunette Ravenclaw she spoke with earlier shuffled over. “Janice, this is Harry, Diana, and…”
“Hermione,” the bushy-haired girl breathed, enraptured by the new arrival. “And you’re Janice Pepper? The same Janice Pepper who wrote the four-page exposé in The People’s Voice about the disparities of Muggleborn employment opportunities?”
Janice blushed and diverted her eyes while Penelope smiled proudly. “It’s not really an exposé…I just crunched some numbers.”
“Stop being so modest,” scolded Penelope. “If it was ‘just’ number crunching, you wouldn’t have rankled all those old big shots.”
Janice adjusted her glasses and smiled. “Today I’m just the treasurer.”
“It was nice meeting both of you,” Harry said, flickering a forced smile. “But we have to go and study.”
Penelope’s expression faltered. “But the meeting hasn’t started yet!”
Diana was disappointed but didn’t fault Harry for backing out, especially since the carrot used to dangle over his head had been snatched away. It was a miracle they made it to the classroom, honestly.
Hermione didn’t have the same thoughts. She placed her hands on her hips and argued, “We finished everything last week, Harry.”
Harry’s eyes drifted to Diana with a silent plea. She bit her lip; the right thing to do would be to give him an out, but then again, she had a goal and was a Slytherin.
“Hermione’s right. But what I said earlier about wanting to focus on schoolwork is true. We’re just here to listen and won’t be talking about anything…personal.”
One of Narcissa’s pearls of wisdom was that if you want to generate interest, it is important to act cool and aloof. Desperation is tangible, she said. And while Diana doubted her stepmother would approve of using the strategy in this context, it was–Diana believed—the most advantageous way. Her mere presence at the meeting made a statement, but her lack of personal involvement created plausible deniability.
Also, remaining quiet would decrease the chances of her saying something idiotic.
Penelope’s eyes shone with understanding, albeit with a twinge of disappointment. “Yes, of course. We appreciate you being here all the same.”
Janice glanced at the clock. “We’re going to be starting in a few minutes. Take a seat wherever you like.”
And so it began.
****
The meeting itself went about as expected. There was a lot of technical and legal jargon used by older students Diana didn’t know, but she understood the gist. Students discussed laws, articles in newspapers, advocacy work, and general venting about perceived injustice, both within and outside Hogwarts. At one point, conversation ventured off-topic towards the Halloween troll and theories, such as whether the rumored unicorn deaths in the Forbidden Forest had any connection to the troll’s presence. Harry shifted in his seat a couple times, and Diana could tell he was restraining the urge to spit out his absurd yet steadfast belief that it was Professor Snape’s fault.
While Diana had no love for the Potion’s Master, she found Harry’s idea borne from wishful thinking more than anything else. Harry’s “evidence” was that he spotted Snape walking with a limp later in the day after the troll attack and had a “suspicious” demeanor. But Diana knew there was ultimately one reason Harry suspected Snape: he hated the professor and was looking for an excuse to villainize him. In Diana’s opinion, there were plenty of reasons to hate Snape already without making up far-fetched scenarios, but Harry needed external confirmation and validation of Snape’s evil. His denial of Harry’s potential place on the Quidditch team cemented a mutual animosity Diana feared could lead to serious harm, considering Snape was a former Death Eater.
Which begged another question: should she tell Harry about Snape’s history?
One one hand, Harry deserved to know, especially if Snape really did have lethally malicious intent. He might not have been responsible for the troll, but who’s to say he wouldn’t try to get revenge for his old master? Or maybe Harry was right, and Snape did unleash the troll in the castle and cover up his tracks? Then again, if Snape’s history was pure history and he really did change, then revealing it to Harry would be like dropping a match in a puddle of gasoline.
Maybe Granddad was onto something, Diana thought glumly as Penelope bolted upright, exclaiming she forgot her basket with small “thank-you-for-attending” gifts in her dorm. If he really could tell the future, maybe he’ll know Snape’s plan. He knew about Tom’s book…
And the man with two faces…
Diana frowned while the classroom erupted into casual chatter following Penelope’s departure. Could Snape be the man with two faces Abraxas Saw, one face representing his performance as a professor and the other showing allegiance to Voldemort?
She wished her life was a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book so she could skip around and find the best path. Every choice led to more questions, and she wondered especially if attending the meeting was one she’d regret. The lull in structure following Penelope’s absence made them vulnerable, and cracks were beginning to form. Hermione jumped into a conversation between three less-than-enthused third years, asking questions and babbling about class choices. Kevin Entwhistle and two Hufflepuff fourth-years started swarming poor Harry.
Panic flickered through her as Harry miserably but politely fended off questions. And while she knew the right thing to do would be to stand by him or interject, the selfishness and insecurity of not wanting anyone to ask her questions took control. Her eyes flickered for an out and she found one, slipping away.
“Freddie Mercury died?” she questioned, scanning the cover of The Times. It would explain why some Muggleborn had enchanted statues to sing different Queen songs this morning. But the news felt inherently unreal, and it was difficult to accept that the “real world” kept moving while she was on a place so different it might as well have been on another planet. “That’s so sad…”
“Never saw what all the fuss was about, personally.” Justin Finch-Fletchley shrugged. “Still, it’s a shame.”
“My mum used to like his music.” Don’t think about her, don’t think about her… “And I did too. How did you get a normal newspaper?”
“Mother sent it to me,” Justin announced proudly. “Father’s made several good investments recently, and now we’ve finally made the list of Britain’s Top Ten wealthiest citizens.” He huffed his chest outward and Diana smiled cordially.
“Congratulations.” It would have seemed more impressive before living in Malfoy Manor, but being in the Top Ten was no small feat. “Your family must be very proud.”
A flicker of something crossed Justin’s face so briefly, Diana wondered if it was a product of her imagination. “The interview’s on page 2, if you’d like to read it.”
Without waiting for a response, Justin pushed the newspaper into Diana’s reluctant hands. Must be karma for abandoning Harry…
Scanning the article proved her assumptions correct. As indicated by the double-barreled surname, the Finch-Fletchleys inherited a tremendous sum of wealth. Justin’s father, Lionel Finch-Fletchley, had connections and–the article implied–tugged the pursestrings of several government officials. The article also included expected fluff regarding charitable endeavors such as funding scientific research and organizations meant to locate missing persons.
It was the latter that caused a cold chill to creep through Diana’s body, each subsequent line dragging her deeper into a pit of dread. “Um, I didn't know you had a sister, Justin…”
“Yes. Caroline.” Diana’s fingers gripped the edges of the paper tighter. “She’s my half-sister, actually, from Father’s first wife.”
“Sorry if I’m being rude,” rambled Diana, face heating. It might not be the same Caroline. In fact, it’s probably not. I bet there are hundreds of Carolines and I’m sure there’s more than one missing, so…
“That’s quite alright,” hummed Justin. “She went missing before I was born, so it’s always been history to me.”
“What year was that?” Diana asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“1979.” Fuck. “And despite what the tabloids say, she didn’t run away to America. We’ve come to accept she’s likely deceased at this point, but some type of closure would be nice, is all.” His face fell for a moment before perking up. “But I’m sure there’s some spell that could shed some light on the matter, and when I graduate I fully intend to put it to use. Magic’s a wonderful thing, hmm?”
“Y-yeah,” she croaked.
Justin, misunderstanding her expression, rushed to add, “Oh my! You have my apologies, Diana. I wasn’t thinking…”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly, schooling her expression into a neutral mask. “Justin, I was just wondering…how did your parents react to you being a wizard? Or the magical world in general?”
Justin chuckled at the memory. “Simply stunned! In complete and utter disbelief.”
So not even the Finch-Fletchley’s connections could provide knowledge of the magical world. Diana was tempted to ask if they acted differently or showed any other signs of Obliviation, but knew she would be pushing her luck with the next question: “Does anyone in the government know about magic?”
Once the question left her lips, she half-expected an SIS operative or Ministry official to burst out of nowhere and tackle her to the ground. But instead, Justin leaned forward conspiratorially, face serious and voice at a whisper. “Between you and me, a select few at the top are aware. I don’t know more than that, though. I’m not supposed to know that.”
Diana nodded as Penelope returned with a large, enchanted basket. For the rest of the meeting, Diana’s mind was a whirlwind of dread, confusion, worry, and indecision. She only realized they were at the end when students—sans Harry–-started clapping at something Penelope said, and she listed some dates and times of future meetings.
“Before we go, I’d like to thank our newest members for coming,” beamed Penelope.
“We’re not new members,” Diana immediately clarified, proud of how steady her voice sounded.
“Of course, of course,” nodded Penelope.
“Well, I’d love to join,” effused Hermione, practically bursting in her seat when she reached to scribble her name on the scroll.
“Wonderful!” Penelope clasped her hands together and looked expectantly at the Boy-Who-Lived. “What about you, Harry?”
“No thank you,” he said politely, though he looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but there.
“That’s a shame,” pouted Penelope. “Ah, well. It’s a standing invitation.”
That should have been the end, but there was a subtle yet perceptible shift in atmosphere amongst the students. Quiet murmurs reached their ears and a fourth-year Hufflepuff leaned forward, eyeing Harry skeptically. “Why don’t you want to join? You lived among Muggles, yeah?”
Diana answered for him. “He wants to focus on school.”
Janice smiled and crossed her legs, clasping her hands on her lap. “We’ll be more than happy to help if you’re struggling with schoolwork, Harry.”
Diana’s palms started to sweat. Hermione, sensing the danger too, gathered up her belongings and rushed to say, “We’ll keep that in mind. Thank you!”
“Ooh, don’t forget to take your gift!” Penelope reminded them, gesturing to the basket. The gifts inside looked like relatively cheap trinkets, but it was a nice gesture all the same. Hermione’s hands dug in and pulled out a self-inking quill. Diana wandered over to the basket too, praying for this would be over quickly.
But Harry remained rooted in his spot. Penelope still smiled, but there was an analytical coolness around the edges of her eyes. “Was there something about the meeting you didn’t like, Harry? Was there something you thought should have been addressed?”
“No,” mumbled Harry. “It was fine…”
“You don’t look fine,” huffed an older Ravenclaw boy.
“You can be honest with us,” smiled Janice. “Advice helps our group grow.”
Diana’s eyes didn’t leave Harry while her fingers pawed through the basket, lifting a Remembrall. Come on Harry, just leave…
“I did think there was something that could have been done better,” Harry admitted quietly. Shit…
“Oh?” Janice tilted her head. “What’s that?”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but this all seems very one-sided,” Harry said plainly. “It doesn’t consider why some of these laws exist. Like the one about not discussing magic with a Muggle partner until marriage. If they told them before they were married and then broke up, is it better for them to be Obliviated?”
“The rule operates under the assumption Muggles are inherently untrustworthy,” Penelope said, steel edge developing in her tone. “There shouldn’t be any discussion of Obliviation at all unless there’s proof the Muggle’s revealing our world to others.”
“And we shouldn’t even have the Statute at all,” murmured a Gryffindor. “It’s not like they could do anything against magic. The barrier between our worlds exists solely for wizard convenience.”
“Someone isn’t automatically trustworthy, or even good, just because they’re weaker.” Harry stood up and slowly gathered his belongings. “A lot of Muggles–most, I think—would love to hurt us if they could. We shouldn’t give them a chance.”
“So you agree with the Ministry,” Penelope concluded, pursing her lips.
“Not with everything,” Harry mumbled, shaking his head. Despite the contention, he reached into the basket and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. “But a lot of the discussion today made it seem like Muggles are children, which is what you complained the Ministry was doing.”
There was a moment of tense, heavy silence. “G-goodbye!” Hermione said, face red as she scooted out the door. Diana quickly followed, and the door thumped shut behind her. A moment later, Harry followed, expression blank.
“Well, that certainly could have gone better,” Hermione sighed.
“Sorry,” mumbled Harry. “I was the one who said those things. They won’t take it out on you, I don’t think.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” apologized Diana. “I kind of left you to dry back there.”
“It’s fine…”
“You raised valid points, Harry,” said Hermione. “They shouldn’t be afraid of exchanging ideas.”
The conversation continued on their way to the dorms, though Hermione did most of the talking. Diana would sometimes feel Harry’s eyes on her, and she too would glance at him when he wasn’t looking.
Neither of them said anything, but a lot could be communicated through silence.
****
Upon returning to her dorm, Diana immediately pulled out the diary and scribbled furiously. She told Tom about what happened at the meeting, her conversation with Justin, suspicions about Caroline, her guilt and frustration regarding Harry, and her guilt for feeling that frustration. She poured her heart and soul into the diary and continued writing until her eyelids drooped, heavy with exhaustion and remorse.
When she awoke, she was no longer in her dorm room. Instead, she was in the castle hallway, staring at a message painted in blood on the walls:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
In many ways her life already felt like a horror movie, but seeing the message reached a new level. It spiked even higher when she looked down and noticed the blood on her fingertips and Janice Pepper’s body on the ground, face contorted in agonizing terror.
Diana did what she always mocked horror movie heroines for doing: she shrieked loudly, attracting unwanted attention. Stumbling a few steps backward, she barely registered the puddle of water dampening the ends of her robes. Her eyes remained transfixed on Janice and the panic in the Ravenclaw’s eyes.
Was she dead? Diana didn’t see any chest movements, which was a sharp contrast with her own heartbeat thumping so rapidly, it felt as though it would burst out of her chest. Her gaze alternated between her bloody fingertips, the message, and the body beside her, breath hitching and tears pooling in her eyes.
“What’s this?”
Diana shoved her fingers into her robes’ pockets. “I–I don’t know, Professor. It was like this when I got here.”
Professor Quirrell didn’t seem to pay her any mind, eyes glued to the bloody wall. His face was pale, but his eyes reflected confusion and curiosity.
“How is this possible?” he murmured, bringing a finger to his chin.
Diana wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself, but started babbling anyway. “Idon’tknow. I just came and saw Janice on the floor and the message. Is she—is she…dead?”
Professor Quirrell lowered himself to examine the girl on the floor, and Diana mustered the courage to take another look. Despite the blood on the walls, she didn’t see any wounds on Janice. Quirrell looked at Diana with an inscrutable expression and avoided her question. “Did anyone else see this?”
“Um, I don’t think so…”
It was odd, seeing the normally-nervous Quirrell acting calm and in control while she remained a stuttering mess. His eyes returned to the message. “Good. Tell no one…we don’t want there to be a panic. The professors will handle it.”
“What does that mean?” she whimpered. If it really was her Obscurus that harmed Janice, would she be executed? Sent to Azkaban? Sacrificed like the Hyperboreans? Quirrell’s unusually-cool gaze rested on her, and though his mouth didn’t move, Diana thought she heard whispering. He stood up slowly. “As I said, it would be best to forget what happened.” He reached into his robes, but his fingers halted as his eyes snapped in the direction of approaching footsteps.
Diana’s heart plummeted when she saw its source. Professor Snape surveyed the scene in front of him with a clenched jaw, dark eyes landing on her with the intensity of a hawk spotting its prey. “I trust there’s a good explanation for this, Miss Malfoy.”
“She d-d-discovered the b-b–”
“I didn’t ask you, Quirinus.”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” blubbered Diana, cognizant of the wetness at her fingertips. The tears finally began to fall. “I l-liked Janice and don’t know what the message means. I was in bed one moment and here the next. I think I sleepwalked here.”
“You…sleepwalked,” he echoed flatly.
“Y-yeah?” she mumbled, bottom lip wobbling.
“And yet, you managed to avoid whatever fate befell Miss Pepper. How odd.”
“M-miss Pepper may h-h-have been s-s-specificaly t-targeted,” suggested Quirrell. “Perhaps by w-whoever let the t-t-troll into the c-castle.”
Snape’s lips curled in displeasure, and Diana wiped her eyes. Though she knew she should stay quiet, the question escaped her lips. “Because she’s Muggleborn? Or b-because she wrote that article?”
“That’s none of your concern,” snapped Snape. “Miss Malfoy, you will return to your dorm. Quirinus, get the Headmaster.”
Quirrell nodded and scurried off, leaving Snape and Diana alone. Giving the message one last glare, Snape stalked away, gesturing for Diana to follow.
“What did Professor Quirrell say when he found you?” he asked sharply once they were out of sight of the message.
“He asked me what happened, so I t-told him what I told you. Then he said not to mention it to anyone.”
Snape scowled. “Hmph. Teaching for almost a decade, yet still nauseatingly idealistic enough to believe a first-year’s capable of keeping her mouth shut.”
He was right, but she felt compelled to give a token protest. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Snape rolled his eyes. “At the very least, attempt to keep the embellishment to a minimum.”
“But I saw a dead body!” she exclaimed, aghast. “Is this like…normal for Hogwarts?”
“Miss Pepper wasn’t dead, merely petrified.”
“Ohthankgod.” Relief swelled in Diana’s chest, followed immediately by trepidation. What story would Janice tell when she woke up?
Snape studied her curiously, perhaps wondering the same question. He halted his movements. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, Diana did as he asked. His cold gaze pierced into her mind as he asked slowly, “Do you have any inkling as to what may have caused Miss Pepper’s affliction?”
“N-no…”
Snape frowned, and in an instant Diana felt as though her mind plunged into a murky pond. Her thoughts grew foggy and hazy, and a throbbing sensation spread through her forehead. Thoughts of the black smoky presence above her bed, the black shadows that slashed the troll, reading a passage on Obscuruses at the library—
With all her willpower, Diana squeezed her eyes shut, and doing so allowed whatever magic connecting them to dissipate. The normally-stoic Snape looked taken aback for a second, but the growing realization of happened prevented her from appreciating it. “How long have you seen this shadow for?” he demanded sharply.
“You went into my mind!” she cried. Ohgodheknowsheknows…shit. I should have worn that stupid necklace…
Snape reimagined his composure and stuck his chin out. “Believe me, Miss, Malfoy, your mind is a place I have no desire to be in. Nevertheless, there is a petrified body in the corridor, and drastic events require drastic solutions.”
“I can’t believe you did that!” she shrieked. Mounting fury was beginning to overpower the trembling panic inside her.
A brief, small touch of understanding flickered in his eyes. “Your mind wasn’t…impacted in any way. Now, regarding the Obscurus—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t have time for these histrionics. As a Head of House, I’m obligated to ensure the safety of my charges—including yourself—which I cannot do unless—”
Diana didn’t hear the rest of what he said. She took off sprinting down the corridors, feeling as lost and vulnerable as she did the day she was first taken from 6 Ironwood Lane.
****
It was the middle of the night and her dormmates, thankfully, were still asleep when Diana threw the curtains around her bed and grabbed the diary.
Tom, do you remember the last thing I said earlier?
As usual, the response came quickly. You mentioned reconsidering your opinions about the roosters. Why? What’s wrong?
Roosters. Could it be rooster blood on the wall? First she felt a wave of relief, then horror.
I killed roosters.
Maybe.
Diana’s fingers dug at the roots of her hair, and she stifled a cry of frustration. Slamming the diary shut, she buried her head in the pillow. After a moment, she took some deep breaths and tried thinking logically.
There were a lot of things to worry about, but the one that occupied her mind the most in that moment was the violation of her mind. Luckily, this was something she planned for.
Tom could wait.
After one final breath, she whispered, “Dobby, Dobby, Dobby…”
There was a popping sound, and the small house-elf appeared on her bed, hunched over and wringing his hands. His bulging eyes darted around, shining with trepidation.
Family house elves typically weren’t permitted on Hogwarts grounds, but there were workarounds; before the school year began, Diana ordered Dobby to appear every time she called his name three times.
“Dobby, one of the professors went into my mind. He said he didn’t mess anything up, but I don’t trust him. Could you see if he was lying?”
“Oh yes, Mistress!” he exclaimed. “It would be Dobby’s pleasure to do as Mistress Diana asks!”
“Shhh! A little quieter, please,” she murmured, praying none of the other girls heard.
“Oh yes, Mistress. It would be Dobby’s pleasure to do as Mistress Diana asks!” he repeated, whisper-yelling.
Dobby snapped his fingers, and Diana felt a tingling sensation run over her body that lasted for a few seconds. Over the summer, she found out that a family’s house elf’s magic is linked, to a certain extent, with the family they serve. As such, they have the ability to tell—if asked–whether or not one of their masters had minds recently tampered by an outsider’s magic.
“No, Mistress Diana.”
Diana let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “What about Draco?”
Dobby closed his eyes for a moment, and his fingertips glowed. Then, his eyes widened. “H-he was, Mistress…”
Her heart stopped, recalling with creeping horror the way the Neville’s Remembrall clouded with red smoke when Draco held it. “When?” she asked, sharper than intended.
“D-dobby knows not, Mistress!” His bulging eyes welled with tears as he twisted the edges of his pillowsack. “Stupid Dobby, stupid Dobby…”
“It’s not your fault.” Before he could wallow in self-pity, she rushed to say, “Is there any way to guess? It couldn’t be something from years ago, right?”
Dobby sniffled. “The one who cast the spell on Master Draco must have done so within the last month or two, otherwise the trace would be gone and Dobby’s feeble magic wouldn’t be able to detect it.”
It had to be someone at Hogwarts then. Shit. She pulled out the Remembrall from her pockets and held it up in front of Dobby. “Could I also use this to tell if someone modified my memory? When Draco held one of these before, it turned red.”
Dobby placed a spindly finger on the Remembrall’s surface. “Yes, but Dobby thinks it might be difficult. The Remembrall lets the holder know if there’s anything they forgot, but Mistress Diana only wants to know if she forgets due to magic.” An unusual spark lit up the house-elf’s eyes. “B-but with the young Mistress’s permission, Dobby can modify the Remembrall to only change color if what’s being forgotten is due to a recent spell.”
“Thanks, Dobby. That’s very helpful.”
Dobby bowed so low, his forehead almost touched the bedsheets. She considered telling him about the message, Janice, and diary, but given his mandatory allegiance to her father, Diana figured the less said, the better. So she dismissed him and spent the rest of the night speculating and mulling over the next steps.
****
The Brisingamen made her feel like one of the peacocks strutting about the grounds of Malfoy Manor, especially when the Slytherins’ eyes sparkled and looked at it with a sense of awe and covetousness. But she was willing to sacrifice some of her dignity if it meant shielding her mind.
Despite the events of the previous night, neither Snape nor any other staff member spoke to Diana, though she suspected it was only a matter of time. And while the head table seemed subdued, the students in the Great Hall chattered away, none the wiser.
Diana changed that later in the courtyard, where she told Draco, Harry, Ron, and Hermione the basics of what happened—excluding the blood on her fingertips, of course.
Ron swore loudly enough that a few passing students looked over curiously. In a lower voice, he said, “I can’t believe they’re keeping this a secret!”
“They’re trying to stave off panic,” whispered Hermione. “Still, we deserve to know. Diana, are you absolutely certain she’s petrified?”
“That’s what Professor Snape said…”
Harry rolled his eyes. “So it was probably a lie.”
“I hope not,” murmured Hermione, wringing her fingers. “Poor Janice…”
“Yes, yes. It’s very sad and all, but let’s focus on the Chamber.” Draco’s eyes sparkled with interest. Ron scowled.
“Mate, would it kill you to show the tiniest bit of sympathy?”
“I said it’s sad!” argued Draco.
“What is the Chamber?” interrupted Harry. “And what’s all that business about an heir?”
“The Chamber of Secrets,” Draco began, intoning dramatically, “is a Hogwarts legend. According to the story, Salazar Slytherin placed a hidden chamber inside Hogwarts that none of the other founders knew about and could only be accessed by him or one of his descendants. Inside the Chamber was a creature powerful enough to purge the castle of the impure. This is going to be—quite possibly—the most historic event in our lives.”
Could it really be a monster instead of her Obscurus? Could she really be that lucky?
But what about the blood…
Hermione folded her arms. “What do you mean ‘impure’?”
Diana suspected Hermione already knew, but Ron spelled it out. “He’s talking about Muggleborns. Git.”
Draco flushed. “I–I didn’t put the monster there! Salazar Slytherin did. And besides, Hermione, I doubt you’d have anything to worry about since you’re different from the other Muggleborns.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “So I’m a ‘credit to my race?’ ‘One of the good ones,’ is that it?” she demanded.
“It’s a compliment,” he said slowly. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
While Hermione was fully justified in being annoyed by Draco’s wording, Diana also knew getting him to feel something other than disdain for a Muggleborn was no small miracle.
“If Muggleborns are being targeted, then Hermione shouldn’t be walking the halls alone,” said Ron.
“If I can’t, then no one should,” huffed Hermione. “It’s not right for this to be kept secret from the other Muggleborns. Unless…oh. Oh! Maybe it’s not all Muggleborns. It might only be certain ones, and the Professors already know whos’ going to be targeted.”
“Do you think it had anything to do with the meeting?” Harry bit his lip. “With me?”
“I’m sure it’s a coincidence,” Diana rushed to assure. “But I wonder how much longer they’re going to keep it a secret. The Ravenclaws must notice Janice is gone by now.”
Speaking up caused the attention to return to her, something she instantly regretted. “Diana, you said you sleepwalked?” Hermione prodded. “And that’s how you saw the message?”
Panic gripped Diana’s throat, and her mind searched for something she could say that didn’t make her suspicious.
“I think so. B-but I might have been cursed.” Aaaand this is another thing I’m going to regret. Doubling-down on the lie, she took out the Remembrall from her pocket. “I told you Snape tried going into my mind and that made me scared. So later I called Dobby–the Malfoys’ house elf—and he used his magic and said—and said, um, that he put magic on this to tell if someone’s mind was affected by magic.”
“Dobby can’t do that!” Draco countered. “He’s too weak.”
“Have you asked him if he could?” Draco’s silence was enough of a response. “House elves can do a lot more than you think. Their magic is different, but it’s not weaker.”
“Let me see that.” As Diana expected, Draco yanked the Remembrall from Diana’s hands, and the ball immediately turned red. The color on Draco’s face was almost as vibrant. “What does that mean? Are you saying someone had the audacity to use magic on me?”
Ron snickered and touched the Remembrall, which turned clear. “Probably Nott or one of your dorrmmates.”
“It wasn’t Nott,” Harry said, much to Draco’s displeasure. He touched it, and when nothing happened, gave it to Hermione.
To Diana’s shock, it turned red.
“S-someone went in my mind?” she squeaked. Ron’s expression grew serious.
“Blimey. Maybe it was Snape.”
“He wouldn’t do that to me,” protested Draco, face paler than normal.
“He would.” The gears in Harry’s mind began turning. “There could be more than one staff member in on it too, like a big conspiracy. Maybe things like this have happened in the past and we just didn’t know about it.”
Hermione squeezed her hands in her lap. “I don’t know about this. It’s hard to believe the Professors are capable of something so vile. Even Snape.”
“It’s not hard to believe at all.” After a second of indecision, she landed the coup de grace that took the heat off her completely. “Snape used to be a Death Eater. I found out when him and Professor Sprout came to my house over the summer. Mum asked to see his arm and he wouldn’t let her because he has one of those Death Eater tattoos.”
“It’s not a tattoo,” hissed Draco. “It’s the Dark Mark.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione paled, and Hermione started blinking so rapidly Diana thought she might pass out. “It’s really true?” Diana nodded.
“Why didn’t you say anything before?” asked Harry, and Diana winced at the anger in his tone.
“I’m really sorry, Harry. Professor Sprout said he’s changed and isn’t a Death Eater anymore, and in the beginning of the year I didn’t want to get involved and cause problems. I know it was selfish…but with what’s happened yesterday, there’s a good chance he might still be a Death Eater, and—”
“He can’t be a Death Eater!” whimpered Hermione. “He just can’t! Dumbledore wouldn’t have hired him otherwise.”
“Unless he’s Obliviating Dumbledore,” replied Diana. “Or putting him under the Imperius…”
“Or Dumbledore’s in on it,” suggested Harry. “Maybe he’s secretly been working with Death Eaters the whole time.”
“He’s not,” Draco insisted. “If he was, my father would know, which means I would.”
“Well, there’s a lot of things he knows that you don’t,” said Diana. Draco flushed and looked away. She held up the Remembrall in her hands. “Look, we might not know who wrote the message”—ME. It was me!—”or who petrified Janice or tampered with our minds—”
“It’s Snape,” Harry murmured underneath his breath.
Diana continued as though she didn’t hear him. “—or even if it’s the same person. We don’t know what their goals are. But we do have this Remembrall we can use and knowledge of what’s going on. So at least we’re prepared and know what we’re getting into.”
Months later, Diana would look back and laugh at her naivete.