All good things must come to an end, and before she knew it, Diana was back on the Hogwarts Express. Her return brought forth a slew of changes: big ones, small ones, and ones whose sizes remained to be seen.
Though she still performed leagues behind her peers, the gulf between their spellcasting wasn’t quite as vast as in September. Her wand responded to her—mostly—and while the spells themselves remained weak and ineffective, they were at least recognizable as magic, compared to the sad sparks that wheezed from her wand before Dumbledore’s lessons. Furthermore, the siblings’ stay at the Burrow bolstered their relationship with Ron. Though Diana considered him a friend before, she always felt a degree of awkwardness, likely due to their shared connection with Arthur. Now, conversation flowed freely and easily between them, and the banter between him and Draco was much less sharp.
Freya had also grown, looking more like a cat than a kitten. The change not only marked the passage of time, but also evoked feelings of nostalgia. Whenever Sarah, Marie, or one of her old teachers remarked on how big she was getting and lamenting where the time went, Diana would internally roll her eyes. But now, she understood that feeling. It served as a valuable reminder to not be so fixated on the future and learn to appreciate the present.
Such a lesson proved somewhat difficult, especially when so much of her future was up in the air. Diana received a note from Lucius via owl, which omitted the specifics of the incident yet burned itself immediately upon reading it. She could tell he actually wrote the letter instead of having Narcissa dictate because it was rambling and uneven and manic and ultimately more about Lucius than Diana. He felt positively awful about it, he wasn’t thinking straight, he would never do it again. Etc., etc. Despite Lucius’ icy exterior, it didn’t take much for him to unravel under pressure. Diana didn’t know if this would work to her advantage or disadvantage in the long run.
Harry was another question mark. His budding friendship with Theodore appeared small on the surface, but had the potential to balloon into something large over time. Though they largely remained in their own social circles, it wasn’t uncommon to see the pair talking or laughing, stirring feelings of guilt. After all, why should it bother her if Harry found another friend? He didn’t treat her or Hermione any differently, and his laughs were sparse enough to begin with. It was nice seeing him happy. And Theodore too, for that matter. The first-year Slytherins coalesced around their ‘Slytherin Prince,’ but he never laughed or jabbered with them in the way he did with Harry. He seemed apathetic towards his followers at best, which paradoxically increased his appeal. Yet at the same time, Theodore made no attempt to broach Harry’s group. She doubted Draco’s scowls deterred him, but for whatever reason, Theodore chose to keep his distance.
Regardless, Diana couldn’t deny a stab of envy when hearing about Harry and Theodore’s adventure over the winter holiday. An anonymous benefactor provided Harry with a genuine invisibility cloak, which he and Theodore immediately put to use. They discovered a secret room with a mirror which had a mysterious ‘something special’ which Harry promised he’d show Diana and Draco later in the month. Less cryptically, he also mentioned exploring the edges of the Forbidden Forest, where Harry made another find: a small, smooth snake which Harry named—at Theodore’s suggestion—Glycon. Glycon became attached to Harry, and the Boy-Who-Lived exhibited dubious judgment by keeping the snake as a pet.
Yet despite the newfound friendship, Harry had enough awareness to refrain from mentioning his Parseltongue abilities. He still preferred the companionship of the Malfoys, and it was comforting to know that—at least—remained the same.
****
Professor Sinistra paired Diana with Justin Finch-Fletchley during an astronomy lesson, something that caused Diana great relief, since she saw Sinistra’s eyes hover on Tracey before calling Justin’s name. Their task was to create a model of the solar system, only with the additional wizarding flair of having their planets floating in midair, formed by some sort of powdery substance that was volatile when mishandled.
“Evening, Diana. How was your holiday?” he asked, organizing the necessary materials on the table.
“Good.” Realizing she wouldn’t be able to elaborate, she redirected the small talk onto him. “How was yours?”
“Not well, I’m afraid.”
Diana suspected as much; she was never particularly close with Justin, but even she could tell something seemed off after he returned to Hogwarts. “What happened?” Then, she quickly added: “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Justin began molding the powder to a somewhat-decent moon. “It’s my father,” he murmured. “I’ve been keeping him up to date on all the goings-on at Hogwarts. Now, I’m not sure that was wise.”
“What do you mean?”
Justin glanced at Professor Sinistra, who was helping Hannah Abbott and a disgruntled Pansy Parkinson on the opposite side of the room. Still, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “He asks all sorts of questions about Hogwarts and the faculty and what we’ve been learning.”
“That seems normal,” she said cautiously, lifting her wand to gently guide the ‘moon’ up in the air. It wobbled, but thankfully didn’t fall.
“But the way he asks is…well, it’s difficult to explain,” sighed Justin. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. What he’s most concerned about is this Chamber business—which is understandable, really. But he’s very displeased with the way the school’s handling it.”
Diana grabbed a vial and used the essence to create the rings of Saturn. “He thinks it should be closed?”
“He thinks Dumbledore should at least send a blasted letter to parents. There’s an utter lack of communication, and the only time he hears anything resembling an answer if he writes to Dumbledore directly. And even then, he says the answers are so evasive you can tell Dumbledore has a background in politics.”
“That’s because he did. Or has. He’s on the Wizengamut somehow, but I’m not sure how…”
“Still, it’s frustrating. Can you pass the vial?”
She handed it to him. “I agree it’s annoying. If we’re forced to be here, so you’d think the least they can do is to be a bit more transparent.”
Justin rubbed his chin in thought. “I don’t know if ‘forced’ is the right word. When I received my letter in the post, Father was more excited than I was.” Then, chagrin crossed his face. “What I mean to say is, er, all situations are different. I realize you had reason to be less-than-enthused.”
Diana swished her wand to gather the yellow brew needed form the sun, levitating it towards the center of their three-dimensional diagram. Performing the task allowed her to avoid eye contact with Justin, which she was thankful for. As much as she kicked and struggled against the thought, she couldn’t deny that a small part of her enjoyed being at Hogwarts. The fire that started over the summer didn’t diminish, exactly, but it cooled; after spending months in the castle and meeting different types of people, it was no longer possible to view allwizards as inherently evil.
She didn’t like it. It was much easier to hate everything and laugh at the thought of their world burning. Nuance was uncomfortable, and made it much more difficult to consider how to best bring about the change she desperately wanted.
“Do you know anything about the Chamber?” she questioned, hoping to change the topic.
Justin shook his head. “I was about to ask you the same thing. If anyone knows, it would be the Slytherins.”
Diana rolled her eyes. “No one knows anything, but everyone thinks they do.”
“A horrible combination,” he chuckled.
“They practically revere the Chamber. The way they talk about it, it’s like they’re expecting Jesus to pop out of the tomb instead of a creepy monster that petrif—oh, bollocks!”
The sun careened to the floor, shattering and emitting a powerful heat despite its tiny size. Diana wasn’t sure if that was the cause of her warm cheeks, or the embarrassment of casting such a weak spell. All the other first years—sans Neville—were capable enough of keeping a stronger, fixed position.
“I’ll be over there in a minute,” Professor Sinistra said, still in the middle of fixing Dean and Seamus’ project.
“Sorry,” mumbled Diana.
“No worries, this heat’s nothing compared to Greece. Father took us there last year during the summer holiday. I thought I’d boil alive!” Despite his words, Justin unclasped his robe and folded it on a nearby chair. “Did you go anywhere during the summer holiday?”
When she lived with the Whites, the farthest she ever traveled was Blackpool or Weymouth. She’d never get used to the casual trips to far-off lands that characterized the wealthy, but it was one tiny silver lining of living with the Malfoys.
“Hyperborea.”
Justin rolled up his sleeves as she followed his lead and put her cloak on the chair. “Never heard of it. Is that in Africa?”
“No. It’s a wizarding nation where—” She stopped, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips as she looked at Justin’s forearm. “Okay, so this might sound weird, but I didn’t realize how much I missed plasters until I saw yours. It’s the little things, right?”
Justin blinked, then followed her gaze and smiled. “Ah, that. Didn’t realize I still had it on.”
He tore it off and tossed it in the nearby rubbish bin.
“Did you bring them from home? That’s a smart idea…”
“No. I had some bloodwork done right before I returned from holiday.”
“Oof. That’s one thing I don’t miss about the Muggle world.” She shivered at the memory.
“It wasn’t a routine check-up. I told you before how my father’s funding some research at Oxford, yes? He had some blood of me taken, off the record and all.” Justin lowered his voice to a murmur. “He didn’t say anything to me about it, but I think he’s trying to learn more about what makes us ‘us,’ if you catch my meaning.”
Images of dissected Roswell aliens filled her mind, and she suddenly felt very queasy. Upon seeing her expression, Justin rushed to clarify: “It wasn’t anything bad. It felt the same as a normal checkup. Nothing like that sci-fi rubbish.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good.” Still, there was something else pinching at the ends of her mind. After a few seconds, it clicked into place. “I know someone who works for the research department there! Ridley Grayson.”
“Who?”
Embarrassment creeped in, and she searched for an explanation that was accurate without being awkward. “A wizard who graduated Hogwarts a while back. Said he wanted to live in the Muggle world full-time.”
“That’s…interesting.” Justin looked baffled by the possibility someone would willingly abandon magic, but soon brightened. “Maybe he can help Father.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Maybe…”
****
Though they shouldn’t have been, Justin’s words were quickly forgotten as Diana focused on a more pressing matter: Quirrell. The Professor’s attempts to get Diana alone remained sporadic yet persistent, and Diana knew a time would come where she’d no longer be able to avoid it.
Eventually, that day came. Whether by fate, chance, or meticulous plotting, Quirrell spotted her in the corridors over the mountain of scrolls in his arms. “M-Miss Malfoy, a w-word if you p-please…”
Resisting the urge to bolt, she shuffled over and listened as he explained that he needed to speak with her about a recent exam. “N-Nothing too alarming, but I n-need to you c-clarify one of your answers. Follow me to my o-office, please…”
Though the Brisingamen adorned her neck, she didn’t want to be placed in an uncomfortable position where he tried to probe her mind. “I’m supposed to meet my friends soon…”
“This will only take a m-moment.”
“We can wait until the next class,” she suggested, twirling the ends of her blonde locks. “You seem a bit busy.”
She gestured to the scrolls but Quirrell was, of course, unmoved. “You n-needn’t worry. Now, f-follow me.”Diana remained rooted to the floor, and Quirrell’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I believe the headmaster has s-spoken to you about f-failing marks, yes? If you don’t pass for the year, you may have to be educated at home.”
Grudgingly, she followed. Despite knowing Quirrell shared her goal of finding the culprit behind the Chamber, she couldn’t suppress the nerves bouncing inside her. A thick, heavy silence filled the air as they made their way to Quirrell’s office, despite the bustling of students around them. How could she convince him she had no ill intent?
Then, she recalled a rumor some of the Slytherins sniggered over. Bringing it up without seeming overly-intrusive or insensitive required a degree of finesse Diana wasn’t sure she possessed, but she couldn’t think of anything else on such short notice. “Is it true your mum’s a Muggle?”
That wasn’t the only rumor Diana heard about his mother, but knew better than to mention it outright; the connection was already implied.
“Y-Yes,” he replied stiffly. “What of it?”
“I was wondering if you support Muggle rights?” she babbled. “I do, and I think it’s really awful so many parents, like Kevin and Janice, are in the dark about what’s happening.”
Too thick, she cringed as Quirrell’s eyebrows scrunched. Too thick and too awkward…
How did Narcissa make conversation—and gathering information—flow so effortlessly?
Nevertheless, Quirrell responded. “‘Muggle r-rights’ is a bit of a misnomer, despite its use in c-common parlance. It implies systemic oppression, whereas Muggles themselves are not part of our s-society. That aside, as a Professor, it would be unethical of me to impart p-personal views on my students.”
“Oh.” She bluescreened—What do any of those words even MEAN? “Well, um, do you think any of those proposed laws might pass? Like the one saying Halfbloods of parents who aren’t married might be able to live with their Muggle parent?”
“No,” he replied immediately. Not surprising, given Arthur’s uncharacteristically blunt prediction when she asked, but it stung to hear all the same. “The current laws are in place because there have been far too many cases of mismanagement, even by Muggles who appeared benevolent at first glance. Young wizards and witches are killed by relatives or neighbors, or exploited or exhibited. ‘Freak shows’ I believe they’re called. How quaint.”
His lips curled in disgust. Diana realized, belatedly, that the professor’s stutter had subsided. He must be getting passionate and—hopefully—sloppier. As they approached a trophy case, Diana piped, “I think the child should have a say in what parent they live with.”
“Children don’t always know what’s in their best interest. Myrna Fitzpatrick chose to live with her Muggle mother in 1847 and died of famine during the summer. Florence Harper did the same, and was killed by her community for witchcraft in 1745. Paul Baker ran away from his father in 1976 and perished in a heat wave while trying to return to his Muggle mother. And the details surrounding Edith Lightwood’s exploitation are too unsavory to explain to a child, but suffice it to say, she’s one of the primary reasons why the law was implemented to begin with. And that’s not even scraping the surface of the various Muggleborn deaths over the years from accidents that could have been easily prevented if their parents knew rudimentary magic. There’s no reason in our day and age for wizards to die from a fall down the stairs, or slipping and hitting one’s head.” He paused. “At l-least, that’s the g-government’s perspective.”
Diana blinked, unsure of how to feel or respond. But luckily, she didn’t have long to dwell on it.
“BOO!”
The sudden appearance of Peeves caused Diana to shriek and stumble backwards. The poltergeist cackled, and her attempt at a glare only made him laugh harder.
Diana had grown accustomed to ghosts, and in many ways, she felt more comfortable among the dead than wizards. The Bloody Baron still scared the hell out of her, but over time she gathered the courage to speak with some of the less visceral specters. Despite their inter-house rivalry, Nearly-Headless Nick was a trove of information, and Diana found conversations with him to be rather pleasant. Likewise, the Fat Friar always managed to put her in a good mood. His Muggleborn background was comforting, and his time in the clergy offered unique theological insight into theories surrounding the existence of magic and what it means for humanity.
Peeves, she quickly learned, was something else entirely. Whereas ghosts were spirits of deceased individuals, poltergeists were forces of nature, chaotic whirlwinds born from powerful human emotions over many years in a fixed location. Stress, desire, hate, love, hope, loss, anger—these conflicting emotions sweep together to form an entity whose existence is as contradictory as the sum of its parts, exhibiting an alien way of thinking and feeling everything and nothing at the same time.
While there were different theories regarding poltergeists, all scholars agreed on one thing: The constant seeping of emotions gives them an inherent desire to expunge. Namely, through chaos.
As if my life isn’t chaotic already…
“Ohho, has the double act become a triple act?” he asked, eyes gleaming with mischief as they danced between Quirrell and Diana. “Or should I say quadruple? Or quintuple or—hmm, how many are there, anyway?”
Double act? Diana blinked, confused, before remembering Quirrell’s splinching. Peeves seemed to know everything that went on at Hogwarts; a side effect of his nature. He might even know who was behind the petrifications, though there was presumably a reason why Dumbledore didn’t ask.
Unless Dumbledore really is behind it…
“Begone, P-Peeves,” Quirrell squeaked, once again the meek professor from memory.
Peeves smirked and drew closer to prove a point. “Where are you off to in such a hurry? Running from the Grey Lady? She is rather cross at you.”
Confusion flickered on Quirrell’s face. “E-Enough.”
Peeves winked. “Don’t you worry your pretty little turban, I’m not going to spoil the show. But how am I supposed to remain calm in the presence of a thief?”
Shit. If he knew about the splinching, it made sense he’d know she stole the diary from Lucius. Lord knows she spent enough time thinking about it.
Peeves glanced between them, smirk growing wider. “Thief! THIEF!”
He sped past them, leaving a gale in his wake that caused their robes to blow and scrolls in Quirrell’s arms to scatter. Diana helped the grumbling professor pick them up, but as she rose, she stilled as one of the trophies in the trophy case caught her eye. “That—that’s him!”
“Who?”
Any other day, she would have mumbled a lie. But today, her jubilation prevented her from thinking clearly.
“Tom Riddle.” The scrolls slipped from Quirrell’s hands as his eyes followed Diana’s pointer finger. “It’s on the trophy. It says he received it for special services to the school.”
“But w-where did—” He swallowed. “Where did you hear the name originally? Why is it significant to you?”
The high was wearing off, and a dread and regret for her impulsivity started to slink its way into her mind. “Um, he was on one of the lists of old students. In the library.”
“Why were you looking up records of old students?” he snapped, shedding his meekness like a snake’s skin. Diana shrank down. “Of all the names in the history of this institution, I find it difficult to believe his name would stand out.”
“I…I found a book with his name on it,” she mumbled.
“Where? What kind of book? Did your father give it to you?”
His words were forceful to the point where it was almost at a yell, and a few passerbys glanced curiously. Quirrell seemed to pick up on this and stopped his interrogation, but the unfamiliar coldness in his eyes made it very clear she wouldn’t be able to get out of this without some concession.
“It was in the library,” she murmured, taking a few instinctive steps back. “I saw the name on the book and knew it didn’t belong to a first year, so I looked up the records to see what year he was in. I didn’t know it was someone who already graduated, especially that far back. I don’t know how it ended up in the library.” She raised her head, trying to look more confident than she felt. “Why do you think my father gave it to me? It’s just a regular notebook.”
There was a moment of stillness where Diana thought she heard a faint murmur, though Quirrell’s lips didn’t move. “Where is it now?”
“I don’t know. I left it on the table.” She crossed her arms in another illusion of toughness. “Why do you want to know? Is it important?”
“Quite.”
Another soft murmur, and this time Diana was sure it was from Quirrell’s lover. Quirrell’s lips thinned as he said, “The person who owned that book was a dark wizard of tremendous power. Any of his possessions could prove dangerous, especially to the unwitting, and holding onto it while knowing its origin is a crime worthy of Azkaban. If you encounter it again—or know its whereabouts—you’re legally and morally obligated to let me know.”
And with that, her world shattered.
“B-But—” Her eyes darted to the trophy case. “He won an award for special excellence!”
“Yes, well…” Quirrell smiled tightly. “Sometimes the face one puts out to the world does not match his heart’s intentions.”
Maybe Quirrell was actually the villain, like Tom originally suspected. Or maybe Quirrell was mistaken, and Tom was just as innocent as Diana.
Or maybe Professor Quirrell’s right…
She wasn’t stupid—the possibility had crossed her mind in the past. It would explain why Lucius stored the diary alongside other dark artifacts, as well as her sleepwalking, which only started once she began writing in it. But there were other logical explanations, and Tom didn’t have to be the villain for everything to make sense.
Though, at the same time, it didn’t mean he wasn’t.
Her hands grew clammy as she took a shaky step backwards. Quirrell inched forward, heightening her fear. “When we arrive at my office, I can perform a spell that ensures the artifact’s taint hasn’t rubbed off on you. Dark magic such as this can be rather insidious, and you might not even realize if you’re in its thrall.”
Memories of bloody hands flashed in her mind, and she felt very faint. “I, um, I really have to go now…”
Quirrell’s eyes hardened. “I said you’d be back with your friends soon, yes? So let’s continue onward with—”
“Is there a problem, Quirinus?”
Deja vu…
Diana had never been so grateful for that deep drawl in her life. Quirrell shrank back at Snape’s looming presence and sputtered, “N-No, Severus. I n-need to speak with Miss M-Malfoy alone regarding a t-test, but—”
“You can’t,” he replied bluntly. “I need to speak with her now. Come along, Miss Malfoy.”
She didn’t need to be told twice, scooting closer to the potions master. As they walked, she felt Quirrell’s eyes boring into her back. Though once they walked far enough, relief morphed into trepidation.
“What did he want?”
“To talk about my marks,” she squeaked, trying to resist the urge to touch her necklace. “I didn’t do so well on an exam.”
Snape scrutinized her carefully, but this time, she didn’t feel the spidery tendrils pushing through her thoughts. Either he was exhibiting better judgment, or this was the power of the Brisingamen at work. “That’s all?”
“Y-Yes.”
He was silent for a moment. “Never be alone with him again. You may use myself or Professor Dumbledore as an excuse if needed, but do not meet with him on your own. Is that clear?”
“Why?”
“That’s not an answer,” he snapped.
“I’m not trying to be rude, Professor, but if you’re telling me I can’t talk to another Professor—”
“Alone. You may speak with him in class, if you wish.”
“I just—well—I don’t think it’s wrong for me to know why.” Then, she reluctantly added, “Sir.”
Snape folded his arms, glaring down at her. She quivered slightly, but didn’t budge. “Professor Dumbledore requested it,” he finally said through gritted teeth. “If you’re curious as to why, that’s a question to ask him. Now, are we clear?”
“Yes,” she muttered, gears clicking and turning.
She might not be able to talk with Quirrell, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t talk at all.
****
Diana never planned on telling her friends about Tom. When she first started writing in the diary, Diana enjoyed spending time with them well enough. But as with all wizards, trust didn’t come easy to her. As the months progressed, however, something changed. Draco, Harry, Hermione, and Ron somehow managed to crack the wall of paranoia and scooted their way inside her confidence, stirring conflicting emotions. Yet there was no mistaking the truth of her feelings, nor the inevitability of that dreaded conversation.
When the five of them were sitting near the courtyard fountain—their usual meetup spot—Diana dropped the bomb and braced herself for the fallout. To say they were upset was an understatement—Draco especially.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
Her gaze shifted to Ron, who poked the diary with his wand. Thinking about the hurt and betrayal in Draco’s eyes was one thing; seeing it was another. “It wasn’t on purpose,” she mumbled. “In the beginning of the year I didn’t, erm—” ’Trust you’ would have been honest, but after he did so much for her over the winter holidays, it sounded awful to say. “I didn’t feel comfortable. We only just met, and things were still a bit tense.”
“But what about after that?” Draco demanded. “It’s been months!”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she winced. “But it just—well, it seemed like a weird thing to bring up out of the blue, especially after so long. So I kept pushing it off and I—I didn’t think I needed to mention him. It’s like having…another friend. You don’t always need to tell people about your other friends.”
“You do if he lives in a bloody diary! Found in a storeroom of dark artifacts, at that.”
“Draco, that’s enough,” scolded Hermione. “Diana obviously had her reasons.”
“She probably didn’t want to seem thick, either,” Ron said, nodding sagely. “I mean, the thing’s clearly evil.”
“Then why are you poking at it with your wand?” jibed Harry. Ron stopped, and for the first time during the conversation, an almost-smile passed Diana’s lips. “Look, it doesn’t matter why she didn’t say anything. The important thing is we know now. And from what you said, the sleepwalking matches up roughly around the time of Janice and Kent’s petrification—”
“Kevin,” Hermione and Diana corrected.
“Kevin,” he repeated, face flushing. “So I think it’s safe to say Riddle’s involved somehow, especially if he was at Hogwarts when the Chamber was last opened.”
Diana wasn’t willing to let it go that easily. “I wrote in the diary plenty of times! If that’s the case, there should be more students petrified in this school.”
“Were you doing something different then?” questioned Hermione. “Think hard.”
She did, but couldn’t recall. All the days seemed like a blur, though she wasn’t sure if it was due to stress or general preteen obliviousness. “I don’t think so. Maybe—wait! Maybe the spell that trapped Tom has some kind of…residual effect. Tom might be innocent, but the book itself—or the magic put upon it—might be evil.”
Hermione bit her lip and clutched her books tighter to her chest. “I don’t know any spell that could do that. I think—I really think—we need to let one of the Professors know. If he’s innocent and needs to be freed, they’ll be in a better position to handle it than we would. Same goes for if he’s the one responsible.”
“I can’t give him away!” cried Diana. “He’s been let down by enough people already and I—” She swallowed, trying to view the situation logically. “I know I sound stupid, and the whole thing does seem a bit shady, but I just…it doesn’t seem right. I won’t do it. Tom’s not evil.”
She didn’t want to believe he was evil. To do so would acknowledge her own fallibility, and she didn’t—couldn’t—confront the possibility her crush led her on for months like a simpering fool. She had too much pride for that.
“I thought you were smarter than this,” scoffed Draco, shaking his head in disgust. “Hmph. I suppose my first impression was right after all.”
The barb hurt, but she did her best to ignore it.
“Remember this?” She reached into her robes and pulled out the Rememberall which—luckily—remained clear. “Someone out there’s obliviating students, and I don’t think it’s a stretch to think they could be the ones responsible for the Chamber too, which means it can’t be Tom. What if Tom really is innocent, and the diary ends up in the obliviator’s hands by mistake?”
“We don’t know for sure the person opening the Chamber and the person who obliviated me and Draco are the same person. We also don’t even know if it’s a Professor. It might be a student,” Hermione reasoned.
Draco shook his head. “The only ones skilled enough would be seventh-years, and even then it’s difficult to perform unless you have a lot of practice with it. Especially if the bastard got both of us at the same time.”
Hermione’s fingers dipped absentmindedly into the fountain. “What if it’s Professor Quirrell?” she suggested. “I’ve been thinking about it recently, and I think I recall going into Professor Quirrell’s office after class one day, but I don’t remember why. Do you, Draco?”
“No, but how often do you remember every single detail of your day? If Quirrell’s trying to figure out who opened the Chamber, that proves he’s not involved.”
“But the way he talked to me in the hallway was so different than normal,” Diana murmured, shuddering at the memory. “He seemed so…cold.”
“Obviously. Merlin’s beard, he thinks you’re the one behind it. Why on earth would he be nice?” Draco folded his arms and leaned further back against the fountain. “Dumbledore’s the culprit. I know none of you lot want to admit it, but it’s the option that makes the most sense.”
Ron groaned. “It’s not Dumbledore.”
“I don’t want to believe it either,” murmured Harry, “but Snape’s a Death Eater, and Dumbledore has him working at Hogwarts. Why would he do that, especially when there are so many Muggleborns here? If they’re working together, it explains why Snape mentioned him then, and why he tried to stop Quirrell and Diana from talking—especially if the theory Dumbledore’s controlling and framing Diana is true. And we know Quirrell’s trying to find who opened the Chamber, but he doesn’t trust Snape, otherwise he would’ve mentioned the diary to him.”
Ron rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know…it still doesn’t seem right. You didn’t grow up hearing stories about him. The man’s a bloody legend. I just—it’s hard to believe he’d do something like that.”
“Then maybe he’s not aware of it,” conceded Harry. “Maybe Snape’s controlling him.”
“Dumbledore’s the most powerful wizard of our time. He can’t be—”
The clanging of the clock tower bells cut off the rest of Ron’s words. Hermione started gathering the rest of her books, eyes downtrodden. “We’ll think about it more later. The rest of you can’t afford being late to class again.”
The only one who remained stubbornly stationary was Draco. He folded his arms and gave Diana another venomous glare. “Before we go, are there any other enormous secrets you’re hiding?”
‘Yes, actually. I have a semi-sentient black cloud of death that pops out when I feel threatened and will eventually kill me. It’s probably illegal for me to even be here because of it, and now I’m wondering if Dumbledore’s training me to get to the point where the Obscures becomes manageable, and will then control me to control it and cause mass destruction. But because I’m too much of a coward, I’m not going to say anything because I don’t want you to freak out even more and think that I’m weirder than I already am, or accidentally let it slip and get me sent someplace worse.
And also because I’m a massive idiot who learned nothing about the drawbacks of keeping secrets, apparently.’
“No.”
****
Diana knew there’d be ramifications of keeping Tom’s presence a secret, but underestimated how much it would upset Draco—and how upsetting it would be to lose his trust. The bridge they slowly built since the end of the summer collapsed, and the gulf between them was almost as wide as when she first arrived at Malfoy Manor. Draco wasn’t openly antagonistic, but gave Diana the cold shoulder and rebuffed any attempt by her to reconcile. Hermione said Draco just needed time, but she didn’t want time: She wanted her brother back. Now.
She felt frustrated, mainly with herself, but also with Draco. Couldn’t he see why she was slow to trust? Didn’t he realize bringing up the diary on her own was a big step?
She realized, in an uncomfortable moment of self-reflection, that Draco didn’t have a history of letting people in either. Before Hogwarts, he didn’t have any friends that weren’t coached by their parents to kiss his arse, and had thrown him away like yesterday’s rubbish once it was no longer socially advantageous to do so. His trust in his parents shattered, and the person he chose over them—Diana—betrayed him as well.
It took every ounce of willpower not to rush into the Forbidden Forest and throw herself at the mercy of the giant spiders.
Harry took it upon himself to try to smooth things over, suggesting they come with him to visit the mysterious mirror he found over the holiday. The Invisibility Cloak might not be big enough for all five at once, but he could fit Diana and Draco underneath one night and make the trek with Ron and Hermione on another.
For the first time in a while, Diana’s spirits brightened. She didn’t even feel the conflicting pang when she fumbled inside her bag and grabbed the black diary, hastily shoving it into her satchel as her mind floated in the clouds as the prospect of a new adventure. She fastened it around her shoulders like always, ignoring the giggles, whispers, and mischievous glances of Daphne, Pansy, and Tracey from the common room.
The journey was tense yet exhilarating. After what seemed to stretch like hours, the trio finally managed to shuffle to the room where Harry insisted the mirror was being held. But inside, there was no mirror, simply clutter.
“I know it was here!” exclaimed Harry, yanking off the cloak.
“Are you sure it’s the same room?” Diana asked, feeling a spark of concern and sadness at Harry’s distress. “Stuff around here changes all the time.”
“It’s the same room. See? Over there.” He took a few steps forward and pointed to the corner. “Every other part is covered in dust, but there isn’t any in the spot where the mirror used to be.”
Looking closer, Diana could see Harry was right. Nevertheless, Draco folded his arms. “Well, it’s not here now. No use wasting more time—we should head back before someone figures out we’re missing.”
He picked up the silver cloak Harry tossed to the floor, but Harry remained still, continuing to stare at the corner. “It was there,” he repeated, voice a broken whisper. “I saw my parents. Theo said it could make you see the thing you want the most.”
Despite the room’s warmth, a shiver ran up her spine. “How does he know that?”
“He knows all sorts of things.”
She followed Harry’s gaze. A mirror that could reveal one's deepest desire…
She swallowed, an image of Sarah flashing through her mind.
“Yes, that empty spot looks fascinating,” Draco snapped. “Now, come on. Hurry up!”
Harry and Diana reluctantly stepped under the cloak. As they trudged toward the common room, Diana couldn’t help but wonder what Draco would’ve seen.
****
After reaching the common room, Diana slipped out from the cloak and crept to the girls’ dorm. She held her breath as she opened the door a sliver, then froze.
Freya remained curled in a ball on Diana’s bed, sleeping without a care in the world like the other first-year girls. Nyx, on the other hand, laid on the dresser, silently observing a tall, dark silhouette hovering by the side of Diana’s bed. The shadow’s movements were jerkish and mechanical—like something not human trying to fit into a human’s skin. One arm lay limp to the side as the other craned down, clawing items from Diana’s bag, one-by-one.
Diana swallowed down a shriek, heart thundering to the point she feared it would catch the intruder’s attention. Her gut shouted to run and put as much distance between her and the figure as possible, but her brain hissed that she could die if she tried. The best bet would be to get the drop on them and use those precious seconds to wake the others.
Diana fumbled for her wand and whispered a spell she hoped she remembered correctly. “Petrificus Totalus.”
Hope swelled as a spark of light shot out from the tip of her wand, only to die completely as it fizzled midair.
Fuck.
The figure stopped. Then, its head cranked to the side while the right arm grasped for its own wand, fingers coiling around it unevenly. Ear still glued to its shoulder, it rotated its body like a spider and raised its wand, and a scream finally broke free of Diana’s throat. The shadowy mass of the Obscures lashed out, slamming the figure against the wall with the intensity of a tidal wave. Screams, thuds, and clatters erupted in the room until one of the girls finally turned on the light.
Diana’s heart plummeted. Collapsed in a heap against the wall was none other than Gemma Farley.
See, this is why I have trust issues.
The prefect blinked, groggy, as if waking from a deep sleep. “W-What?”
“What the fuck is going on?!” shrieked Pansy. The Parkinson heir always stuck up her nose whenever Diana cursed, but Diana was in no condition to rub it in. Her hands kept shaking until Freya yawned and ambled over, rubbing against her legs. Some guard-cat you are.
“She’s—she was—” How could she ever look at Gemma again without imagining her contorting like some horror monster? “She was going through my stuff. And she looked so—so creepy! Like she was possessed by a demon or something.”
“She wouldn’t want any of your stupid things,” hissed Pansy, eyes narrowing. “And you better watch it. That’s my cousin you’re insulting!”
“It’s true!”
“No it’s n—”
“Gemma,” Daphne cut in, voice uncharacteristically grave, “what were you doing?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, bringing a shaky hand to her forehead. “I remember turning in for the night and then…and then I ended up in here.”
“Maybe you were sleepwalking,” Tracey suggested hesitantly.
The mention of sleepwalking hit Diana like a truck. She dug through her satchel and yanked out the black book she grabbed earlier, only to realize with dawning horror that in her haste, she took her mother’s black notebook instead of Tom’s.
Diana rushed to the enchanted bag by her bed and rummaged through it, eyes filling with tears as she realized the diary was gone. “It’s gone! My—my diary. I had a black diary and now it’s gone. She took it.”
“She’s not holding anything!” snapped Pansy. “You probably lost it.”
“I’d never lose it. It’s either in the bag or with me.”
Gemma searched the ground around her. “I don’t see it. I can—I can check my dorm, but I didn’t see it earlier.”
Diana fought her tears and tried to view things logically. Gemma was ransacking her bag when Diana arrived, and if she couldn’t find the diary then, that means someone else must have stolen it earlier. Quirrell, maybe, or Snape? Who knows how long he listened before interrupting…
“Is no one going to bring up the obvious?” huffed Millicent. “Someone used the Imperius to control Gemma.”
A tense silence blanketed the room before Pansy forced out a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She glanced at Daphne to back her up, but the Greengrass heir didn’t seem as convinced. “Why would someone want to go through Diana’s things?”
Millicent shrugged. “She’s semi-famous. That’s all the reason people need. Maybe one of the loons who think her story’s a setup meant to discredit Lucius Malfoy.”
“If it’s the Imperius, we should tell someone, right?” squeaked Tracey. “It’s supposed to be evil and illegal.”
The girls’ heads—sans Diana and Gemma—turned slowly. “‘Evil and illegal’?” echoed Pansy. “What are you, five?”
Tracey flinched. “I just don’t want to get in trouble…”
“Slytherins deal with these sorts of problems in-house,” Daphne sniffed. “Always have, always will.”
Diana glanced at Gemma to see if this was another case of Daphne talking out her arse, but Gemma remained slumped against the wall, staring off into space, rattled in a way no prefect should. “We don’t know if it’s the Imperius,” said Diana. “That’s supposed to be indistinguishable from normal behavior, right? That’s why there were all those…problems in the trial ten years ago. Gemma didn’t act like herself. She moved all weird and creepy, like—like one of those string-puppets.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “You mean a marionette?”
“Yeah.”
“The Imperius is supposed to be a difficult spell to cast. How normal someone acts under it depends on the skill and concentration of the user,” explained Millicent. “If the person casting it doesn’t have much experience, or if their mind’s clouded for whatever reason, results can be weird and janky.”
“Oh.” Should I be worried she knows so much about it? “Well, it still doesn’t mean it’s actually the Imperius. Maybe it was another curse that looks similar to it, or—”
“It’s the Imperius.” Gemma’s voice was hoarse and hollow, but there was a storm brewing behind her eyes. “I know what it feels like. And I know who's behind it.”
She pushed herself off the floor and strode to the doorway before glancing back at Diana. “Daphne’s right, we deal with these problems in-house. But I can promise you this will not happen again. I won’t let it.”
In the past, Diana wondered how someone as kind and friendly as Gemma ended up in the snake pit. But seeing her expression and hearing her tone in that moment, there was no denying the venom running through the older girl's blood.
****
Diana wasn’t sure what—if anything—came from Gemma’s promise. She hadn’t experienced any more traumatic nighttime encounters, but also didn’t hear any drama, or any gossip concerning Gemma at all. Which was just as well, Diana supposed, since she suspected Gemma wouldn’t be a match if the person who stole Tom was the same person behind the petrifications.
While the theft horrified her, it also validated her belief Tom couldn’t be the evil mastermind Ron suspected. How could he be, when someone used a dark curse to possess a student to steal him away? It was far more likely, in Diana’s opinion, that the mastermind possessed students to unleash the monster. Perhaps she really was possessed months ago, but not by Tom.
Despite her impassioned defense, Diana’s friends still weren’t fully convinced of Tom’s innocence. Every question led to another, and although they’d be collecting pieces of the puzzle, none seemed to fit together. One thing Diana knew for sure though was that she needed to find Tom. The thoughts of him trapped for another half a century was too much to bear.
Yet her searches kept leading to dead ends, and Diana had no choice but to continue life as normal. Relations between her and Draco were still tense, but she tried focusing on her other friends, improving her marks and wandwork, lessons with Dumbledore, and spending time with her car. Enjoying the moment, instead of rushing on to the next.
Gradually, the cloud of depression and anxiety lifted, and for a moment, Diana became optimistic for her future.
But only for a moment. Because soon after, the Chamber claimed its third victim, and the wizarding world became well and truly fucked.
****
Diana’s eyes darted around the office before settling on Dumbledore. He looked calm and serene, writing letters in his chair with a flourish, but Diana spent enough time with him to notice subtle signs of agitation: his thumb tapping against the quill, his jaw sporadically moving back and forth, a more pronounced vein on the back of his hand. Such discontent wasn’t surprising; having three students petrified would take a toll on any headmaster, let alone one whose father was in Britain’s Top Ten.
“As I’m sure you may have discerned,” he began lightly, “our lessons will be canceled today. I’ll be speaking with the Minister shortly and fear I won’t arrive back in time. Next Saturday, perhaps?”
“Sure,” she mumbled. Unable to meet his gaze, her own drifted to Fawkes, who cooed pleasantly despite the recent tragedy.
“There’s another reason why I summoned you today. I wish to discuss not only the future, but the present. How are you feeling, Diana? I understand you and Mr. Finch-Fletchley were friends.”
Her shoulders sagged at the mention of the latest victim. “I don’t know if ‘friends’ is the right word. We spoke a few times and he seemed like the right sort. He didn’t deserve to die.”
“Thankfully, Mr. Finch-Fletchley isn’t deceased. As with the others, he’s merely petrified.”
‘Merely’ petrified. Diana gritted her teeth, remembering both Pansy’s complaint earlier that morning (“This monster’s such a letdown! When’s it going to start killing people?”) and Dumbledore’s placation that the adults will handle it. “That’s still bad.”
“I agree.”
So DO SOMETHING already! “Have you found any leads?”
“While I’m sure it’s frustrating to hear, I cannot divulge that information to a student at this time.”
Diana’s temper flared. She didn’t want to believe Draco’s theory that Dumbledore was the mastermind, but he wasn’t making it easy.” “I’m worried. It’s hard to go to class knowing this monster’s just…waiting.”
“If it’s any consolation,” he said, stippling his bony fingers under his chin, “I have reasons to believe Halfbloods would be spared by the creature. It’s been trained to seek out Muggle blood, and those with two Muggle parents have large enough quantities to attract it. Even one wizard parent is enough to dilute the blood so the creature wouldn’t be attracted to it on its own.”
Diana sat up straighter. “You know what it is?”
“Alas, I cannot say.” She glared, but he remained nonplussed. “Next session, I believe it would be wise to practice defense spells. Perhaps that will assuage some of your fears.”
She knew she should mumble a quick ‘yes’ just to get the conversation over with, but the condescension—intentional or not—threw a massive amount of kindling onto her flaming temper. “Actually, I want to stop the lessons.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to keep my Obscurus.”
Finally, a reaction!
His smile faded as he leaned forward, piercing her with his gaze. “Diana, you may not feel it due to the progress we’ve made, but if left unchecked, make no mistake—the Obscurus will kill you.”
“I’m not saying it has to be forever, but I don’t feel safe with the monster on the loose. I know it might be bad for me later, but at least now I can rely on it to protect me if I’m in danger.”
“It’s also a danger to other students,” he reminded her gently. “You may not intend to harm others, but innocents can easily find themselves in the crossfire of an Obscurus and its target.”
“That never happened!” she snapped. “Maybe with others, but not me.”
Dumbledore surveyed her intently. “Have there been any recent occurrences?”
“No,” she lied.
“I see,” he said flatly, placing his letter in an envelope. “That’s comforting to hear, considering every emergence of the Obscurus brings the Obscurial closer to death.”
She tried to appear as stony-faced as Dumbledore, though she doubted her success. “I’d rather have a short life where I control what happens than a long life where I don’t.”
Dumbledore smiled sadly. “I’m afraid there’s no power on earth that allows humans to control their fates, though many have tried. But as I previously mentioned, you have nothing to fear from the creature, though practicing your wandwork may give you peace of mind.”
“My spells aren’t even that good,” muttered Diana, remembering her pathetic attempt against Gemma. “They only work sometimes.”
“It’s a process. There is no—forgive me—‘magic’ cure to a problem as layered as this one. But make no mistake, overcoming it is possible.”
“Yeah. One percent possible,” she grumbled.
He ignored her pessimism and resumed addressing the envelope. “A small chance is still a chance. I have some ideas of my own, but I want to ask: what spells would you prefer to focus on during our next lesson?”
He waited for her response, but received none. “Diana?”
But Diana continued staring at the envelope. Lionel…Finch-Fletchley.
“Is that Justin’s dad?” she asked, pointing to the envelope.
Dumbledore blinked before slowly following her gaze. “That’s correct.”
“Did you tell him the monster attacked Justin?”
Dumbledore placed the letter atop a stack of others Diana wished she had the foresight to read. “I told him there had been an incident, but one that Justin will be able to recover from.”
“But you didn’t mention the monster,” she said flatly.
Dumbledore paused before answering. “No.”
She appreciated the rare bluntness, but nonetheless…”That’s messed up.”
“I realize it may appear that way from your perspective, but it’s yet another example of how the right choice isn’t always easy.”
“How is keeping the truth from his father the ‘right thing’?” she demanded.
“Because it causes undue stress and yields no benefit,” explained Dumbledore. “While there are a great many theories, there is still much that is unknown about the circumstances behind these petrifications. There is strong cause to believe in the existence of a creature, but its existence is still speculation, and it would be irresponsible of me to claim it as fact. The notion of purposeful targeting would understandably incite a desire to see their children or unenroll them from this institution. And for better or for worse, Muggles are legally forbidden from setting foot on Hogwarts soil, yet Muggleborn children must receive a magical education.”
“But he knows about the monster! Justin’s already told him. He’s going to piece two and two together and know what really happened.”
“Perhaps. But like I said, nothing can be done.”
Diana’s blood boiled. She didn’t believe the most powerful wizard in Britain could do no more than to throw his hands up in the air in defeat, but knew prodding for more information would be like squeezing water from a stone. “May I be excused?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Dumbledore nodded. “Remember: A fortnight from now.”
Her lips thinned as she stood up. “Bye, Fawkes.”
The phoenix cooed in response while the edges of Dumbledore’s lips tugged upward at the snub, enraging Diana even more.
This anger didn’t subside even after returning to the dorm, leading to a surge of boldness only possible from a preteen convinced she has the world figured out.
Diana penned two letters. The first was to Justin’s father, informing him what truly happened to his son and suggesting he speak with the Association about it and providing him with the contact information Nia gave her. The second was to Nia herself, rambling and ranting about Dumbledore’s inaction and the climate of fear spreading through Hogwarts.
She slept well that night, cocooned by self-righteousness and the satisfaction of Making a Difference, blissfully aware of the deaths and chaos resulting from the two simple letters.
But that night, at least, she slept well.
****
The fallout wasn’t immediately apparent over the next couple months. On the contrary, whatever powers in existence seemed to finally be on Diana’s side. She received a gushing letter from Lionel thanking her, saying that if she ever needed a favor in the Muggle world, she needed only to ask. The only thing that sprang to mind was confirmation Marie was safe, which Lionel eventually provided.
Marie was more than ‘safe’—she was thriving. She owned beachfront property in Florida and adopted a Cocker Spaniel, started a book club, took yoga classes, and even dipped her feet into the dating pool. If she ever thought about her granddaughter, it was only in distant dreams.
Diana didn’t know if this news was comforting or upsetting. She had a strong hunch whoever modified Marie’s memory purposely tried to give her a happy and healthy mindset, but those negative thoughts were a core component of what made Marie Marie. But if her grandmother was happy now—for the first time in over a decade—was it truly Diana’s place to be bothered by it? It posed a philosophical question Diana didn’t know the answer to.
Nia’s response was more straightforward. Writing to her was like throwing fresh meat into a lion’s den, and Nia pounced ferociously. The student petrifications already stirred heavy discourse, and when The People’s Voice published a scathing interview with Lionel Finch-Fletchley, public opinion towards Dumbledore and Fudge’s handling of the situation became more heated than it was over the summer. The hegemony wobbled as more dissenting voices rose, urging leadership to take action. It came to a head when advisors whispered in Fudge’s ear that sitting on his hands might place his chance of re-election in jeopardy, and while acquiescing to certain demands may incense the old Purebloods, the rumored candidates were more liberal when it came to Muggle rights than he. Certainly they wouldn’t vote for any of them.
It was this thought that cemented Fudge’s decision to throw the Muggle Rights activists a bone. Concessions to the politically powerful Pureblood families can be made later, but right now, something had to be done about the Hogwarts situation.
For the most part, Hogwarts’ insular nature generally shielded students from the depth of the discourse, though enough trickled down from wizard relatives to know it was happening. No one knew the full extent, however, until word got out that—for the first time in its thousand-year history—Muggles would be allowed to set foot on the grounds of Hogwarts.
The news went over as well as expected.
“It’s lunacy, utter lunacy,” sniffed Daphne, her butterfly clip rustling in agreement as she brought her spoon daintily to her lips.
The rest of the nearby Slytherins nodded like bobbleheads. Diana rolled her eyes. “It’s only a few, and it’s a one-time thing. They’re just checking on their children, that's all.”
Daphne tsked like a disappointed mother. “It’s one time for now. But that’s always how it starts, doesn’t it? Just one small leak and the dam eventually crumbles.” She sighed theatrically. “Truly, we’re looking at the end of an era.
Father told me Mother fainted when she heard the news.”
Guess we know drama runs in the family…
“Well, I think it’s a good thing,” Diana said, stuffing her mouth with more Shepherd Pie.
Daphne looked at her pitifully. “No one is surprised, darling.”
Daphne had gotten into the annoying habit of using terms of endearment in a patronizing way, something Diana suspected she picked up from Camellia Avery, the Queen Bee of the Slytherin fifth years. She fought the urge to shove Daphne’s face in the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Change isn’t always a bad thing. I mean, Muggles sent men up to the moon! That couldn’t have happened if people just accepted we’re supposed to stay on Earth forever.”
“That’s the point,” hissed Pansy. “This isn’t the Muggle world, and we don’t want things to change. Mudbloods keep whining about how they want our world to be similar to theirs, but if they miss the Muggle world so badly, there’s nothing stopping them from going back once they graduate.”
“Muggleborns are part of the wizarding world, whether you like it or not. And while you might not want change, you don’t speak for everyone.”
“Evidently,” Daphne deadpanned, bringing her teacup to her lips. “Diana, listen to reason for once. The reason our world survived so long was because of our separation. It’s easy to paint us as bigots, and probably makes you feel good about yourself. But your view of the world is so…childish. You see everything in black-and-white when everything’s gray.”
“There’s nothing ‘gray’ about not allowing parents to see their children when they’re in trouble.”
“It’s about what it stands for,” Harry said quietly. Diana’s spoon slipped into the bowl in surprise. “This place was created as a safe haven from Muggles, a place where they didn’t have to suffer because of hatred or superstition or jealousy.”
“Well said, Harry,” breathed Pansy, batting her eyelashes. Ugh.
“It might have made sense in the past, but not today,” Diana finally responded. “People in the UK are more educated now.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Blaise murmured. “Muggles coming here makes a mockery of our school, like that gaudy park with the mouse.”
“They’re not on tour. They’re seeing their petrified children,” hissed Diana. “You know, kids reading history books a hundred years from now will scratch their heads and wonder what took so long.”
“They’ll read something about this,” Draco said dryly, looking at Harry instead of her. “I don’t know how, but this is going to blow up in everyone’s faces somehow. I can tell.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.”
Everyone’s head snapped towards Theodore, who had been quiet through the duration of supper. He chewed his pie nonchalantly, playing with their attention like a cat with a mouse. Dabbing his mouth with a napkin, he continued. “Fudge could have easily arranged for the bodies to be brought to them, but instead, he chooses to do this. It’s all a publicity stunt.”
“What do you mean?” Diana asked slowly.
“Think about it. Do you really think the Minister’s going to let a bunch of Muggles walk away after seeing Hogwarts?”
“So…what? You’re saying he’ll send wizard-assassins after them or something?” Diana wouldn’t trust Fudge as far as she could throw him, but defaulting to murder seemed extreme.
“No,” Theodore chuckled, but didn’t elaborate.
After a moment of silence, Harry’s eyes lit up. “Oh! I get it.”
Diana scanned the faces of the other first-years, watching an assortment of understanding nods and utter cluelessness. It was only when Draco’s eyes met hers that she realized what Theodore meant.
“He’s going to have their memories erased,” she groaned.
“Or modified, more likely. He gets the political clout from Muggle Rights activists while privately reassuring the old guard. It’s quite clever, really. Father always said Fudge was shrewder than most people give him credit for.”
The fact Theodore was able to come to this conclusion was yet another reminder of his maturity compared to everyone else at the table. Diana always got the impression that, like her, he’d Seen Some Shit, but she could never get a good read on him.
“You’re so smart, Theo,” purred Pansy, battering her eyelashes again.
This girl needs to pick a lane already!!
Diana glanced back at Theodore. “I bet the Association’s going to suspect that.”
“I’m sure he’s aware of that, too,” smiled Theodore. Then, he turned to Harry. “So, our last Quidditch match is against Gryffindor? What do you think our chances of winning are?”
Harry launched into a detailed analysis of Slytherin’s chances, and the mood lightened. Nevertheless, the unease of Theodore’s words lingered long after.
For better or for worse, tomorrow would be a day that would go down in history.
****
“I still can’t believe this is happening!” Penelope giggled, fixing his tie. “Oh Percy, you’re so lucky.”
Percy Weasley knew—objectively—Penelope was right, but certainly didn’t feel it. Not that he’d let that show, of course. Penelope and the rest of the wizarding world was counting on him.
“I’ll do my best,” he said bravely, adjusting his label’s and double-checking his hair in Penelope’s hand mirror. Percy wore his finest robes, sweater, and trousers underneath, but the ‘best’ fashion by Weasley standards didn’t always match up with everyone else’s conception. From what he heard, Lionel Finch-Fletchley was something of a Muggle big shot, and Percy fervently prayed the Muggle elites weren’t as judgmental as their wizarding counterparts.
“I still don’t know why Dumbledore picked me to act as the student liaison,” he mused. “You’d be much better suited, especially since you’re Muggleborn yourself and have met the Peppers before.”
She pouted. “He probably didn’t want to rock the boat since I’m the head of the Student Association and this is—shall we say—a controversial decision by the Minister and all.” Then, her expression brightened. “Besides, you’re Arthur Weasley’s son. Choosing you still sends a message—more subtle, yet still effective. You also know more about Muggles than the average Pureblood.”
He didn’t. Though Percy respected his father’s ideals, he often sulked and tuned out mentions of Muggles when he was younger, feeling that his father chose them over his family and chained himself to an untenable political position that limited his upward mobility and, therefore, the family’s finances.
And if Dumbledore chose Percy to ‘send a message,’ it would come as a surprise. Dumbledore’s innermost thoughts were notoriously difficult to discern, and Percy agreed with Penelope that his actions were always purposeful. Yet his latest interactions with Dumbledore gave the impression the headmaster wasn’t particularly enthused by the visit, either.
Regardless, Percy defaulted to Penelope, a tip he learned from someone much wiser in the ways of women than he. “Right as always, Penny.”
“Of course I am.” She leaned in and brushed her lips against his. “Good luck!”
Bill, I’ll never doubt you again, Percy thought, heart melting into mush as he watched Penelope prance down the hallway.
He took a minute to compose himself before heading to the front entrance, to meet Professor Sprout and McGonagall. Sprout gave one look at Percy and chuckled heartily. “Percy! You look like your legs are about to turn to jelly!”
His face flushed. “Well, this is—er, an historic occasion, and I certainly wish to leave a good impression.”
“You were chosen for a reason,” McGonagall said brusquely, though her eyes were warm. “And you needn’t worry. We’ll be with you on the way to the Infirmary, along with the Ministry representatives.”
She reviewed the rest of the plans and expectations again, and the door opened sooner than he would have liked.
Percy never spoke with a Muggle before and didn’t know what to expect. The part that struck him the most was how normal they looked. Cross and worried, but expected given the circumstances. The ministry officials flanking the group were younger than Percy anticipated. The witch gave a dazzling smile, unbothered, while the wizard attempted to do the same but couldn’t quite hide an underlying irritation.
They exchanged introductions, and Percy almost fainted when he realized the woman was Lucinda Talkalot, former legend on the Slytherin Quidditch team. He didn’t recognize the name Garrick Stebbins, but could tell the Muggles’ identities based on the similarities to their children.
The cloudiness in the Muggles’ faces was quickly replaced with stunned silence and awe as the group made their way through the halls of Hogwarts. The Peppers were wide-eyed and jumpy, whispering to each other frequently. The Entwhistles asked a barrage of questions, which the professors fielded with grace and ease. After a few stutters, Percy was able to chime in occasionally, too.
It was difficult to pay much attention, however, because Percy’s eyes kept drifting towards Lionel Finch-Fletchley. Even without knowing Justin, Percy could infer his wealth and power from the intense aura and elegant manner in which he carried himself. Yet to Percy’s surprise, Lionel didn’t ask questions or even speak at all beyond his initial introduction. But he certainly watched, soaking in every minute detail of their surroundings.
Despite the warmth of the halls, Percy shivered.
Eventually they reached the hospital wing, where Dumbledore was waiting. Dumbledore forewarned Percy this was likely going to be the most difficult part of the experience, and the gasps of mothers and shouts of fathers—sans an eerie silence from Lionel—upon seeing their petrified children did nothing to dispel that notion.
Dumbledore bent the truth a bit by saying occurrences like these weren’t uncommon in the wizarding world, that despite the rumors there was no conclusive evidence as to what caused the petrifications, and that there was nothing to fear because Sprout had the tools necessary to undo the petrification in due time. He weathered a storm of questions and criticism, but eventually, his serene demeanor had a somewhat disarming effect on the Muggles. The professors heaped no shortage of praise on the children, and after a while, the parents were…not quite pacified, but ready to leave.
Sprout stayed behind to speak with Dumbledore about the mandrakes, and Percy let out a small sigh of relief, believing the worst to be over. But once they reached a corner, they stopped, spotting a couple of bumbling first year Slytherins painting a message in black ink on the walls.
MUGGLES GO HOME!!!
THE AIR OF SLYTHERIN WILL EAT YOU’RE CHILDREN
McGonagall’s face turned a dangerous shade of scarlet. “MR. CRABBE! MR. GOYLE!”
Crabbe and Goyle dropped the ink pot and bolted down the hall.
“Mr. Weasley,” she hissed, steam from her ears practically visible. “Do you mind helping Mr. Stebbins and Ms. Talkalot escort the parents down to the entrance while I deal with these miscreants?”
“No need, Professor,” Lucinda hummed. “I remember these halls as if it were yesterday.”
Still, McGonagall waited for Percy’s response. He gulped and nodded.
After a clipped goodbye to the Muggles, McGonagall stormed down the hall, and Percy suddenly felt very alone despite the group surrounding him.
Mr. Finch-Fletchley broke his silence, commenting dryly, “Am I right in assuming grammar isn’t part of the curriculum?”
“You’re correct,” Percy grimaced, glancing at the message once more before continuing the trek to the exit. “Students are expected to learn the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic before they arrive, either by their parents or private tutors. But as you can see, er, educational outcomes aren’t always consistent…”
“Those boys wrote about the air. Do they mean the heir of Slytherin?” Mrs. Pepper asked nervously. “The student who petrified Janice?”
Mrs. Entwhistle’s eyebrows scrunched. “It’s a monster, not a student—at least, that’s what Kevin said in his letters.”
“We talked about this, honey. A monster can’t just hide,” snorted Mr. Entwhistle. “Surely wizards have some version of tracking.”
“An intriguing thought. Perhaps they do, and know full well where it is. Perhaps they’re keeping it secret for reasons unbeknownst to us.”
The Muggles’ eyes widened at Mr. Finch-Fletchley’s conclusion, and Lucinda and Garrick exchanged glances.
“Th-that’s not true!”
It was only when they turned to Percy that he realized he spoke. “I mean, er—” Snap out of it! Wizardkind is counting on you! “Dumbledore wouldn’t do that. He's a man of high integrity and esteem, and cares for every student regardless of blood status. Also, it’s, um, it’s a bad look for the school for things like this to keep happening.”
“I can imagine,” drawled Mr. Finch-Fletchley. “And yet, he didn’t conclusively tell us what caused our children’s petrifications. Why do you think that is?”
Percy searched frantically for an answer. “Maybe he…um…maybe he doesn’t know?”
Or knows but doesn’t want to tell for whatever reason…
“So either he’s malevolent or incompetent,” huffed Mr. Entwhistle. “Lovely.”
Percy flushed and opened his mouth to protest, but closed it after noticing the subtle shake of Lucinda’s head.
“Hush, Peter,” his wife scolded. “It’s not the poor boy’s fault.”
Mr. Entwhistle’s shoulders sagged. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that. I appreciate you taking the time to escort us.”
“It’s nothing,” Percy mumbled, feeling like a failure.
Why on earth did Dumbledore pick him?
As they made their ways through the winding halls—which seemed more circuitous and confusing than normal (is it changing because of the Muggles’ presence? he wondered, dread pooling in his stomach) the parents murmured amongst themselves.
“—be idiotic at best, sadistic at worst, to continue sending my son to an institution where half the student body hates him on principle. We’ll move to the States if we have to, but there’s no way we’re going to keep sending him here,” declared Mr. Entwhistle.
“Let’s not make any hasty decisions, dear,” Mrs. Entwhistle said, placing her hand on her husband’s forearm. “You know how much Kevin loves this place.”
“So does Janice,” nodded Mrs. Pepper. “But John and I will be pulling her once she recovers.”
Mr. Entwhistle shot his wife a triumphant look. Mr. Pepper sighed. “I wish it never came to this. Should’ve pulled her four years ago when she first told us about the slurs thrown at her. But better late than never, I suppose.”
Mrs. Pepper glanced in Garrick and Lucinda’s direction. “Excuse me. Do you know the process on how to unenroll a student from Hogwarts?”
“Yes. We can discuss it afterwards, once we leave the castle grounds,” Garrick said smoothly.
Guilt spiked through Percy once more. He had to try something. He didn’t want future Purebloods to read history textbooks and smirk, learning how an outreach from wizards to Muggles ended with Muggles making a decision that—in their view—proved incompatibility between races. “I can’t say I would do anything different if I was in your position,” Percy squeaked, “but I just wanted to say…Hogwarts will be worse off without your children. Janice is very clever and passionate, and has spread a lot of awareness through her work with the Student Association. And while I never had the pleasure of speaking with Kevin and Justin, I never heard a bad word uttered about them—not from anyone worth listening to, at least. I’m sorry this whole situation happened. They’ll be missed.”
The faces of the Muggles softened. “That’s kind of you to say,” smiled Mrs. Entwhistle. The rest nodded in agreement.
Confidence bolstered, Percy stood up a bit straighter. “And if you have any further questions, I’ll do my best to answer them.”
“I have one I’ve been meaning to ask for a while, actually,” said Mrs. Pepper, looking slightly embarrassed. “This may be inappropriate to ask, but…is there a bathroom nearby? I really need to use one.”
“There’s one coming up around that corner,” Percy said proudly. When they reached it, he stopped, realization striking him like a lightning bolt. “Ah. I apologize, Mrs. Pepper, but the second floor girls’ bathroom’s out of order. it slipped my mind since I never needed to use it, but there’s one on the floor right below us. Shouldn’t be much longer.”
Mr. Pepper chortled. “Wizards can’t just ‘magic’ the pipes to work?”
Percy readjusted his collar, which was beginning to constrict around his throat. “It’s, er, not an issue with the plumbing, per say…”
Lucinda’s eyes lit up. “Moaning Myrtle! Oh, the memories. My friends and I used to have competitions to see who could make her cry the quickest. Good times.”
Mrs. Pepper paled. “I—I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand…”
“Myrtle’s, erm”—do they have these in the Muggle world?—“a ghost. The bathroom itself works fine, but you can imagine her presence there makes doing one’s business somewhat…difficult.”
The Muggles looked at each other in a mixture of horror and fascination.
“An actual ghost,” Mrs. Entwhistle breathed, wide-eyed. “Gosh. Kevin wasn’t joking.”
Mrs. Pepper bit her lip and glanced at the door. “And you’re sure it works?”
“Yes,” Lucinda chuckled. “Ghosts can’t harm people, and the worst she can do is be annoying as fu—anything. And most of the time she’s too busy crying to notice people. As long as you don’t go in the leftmost stall or try to talk to her directly, you’ll be fine. ”
“I’ll go in then.” At the rest of the Muggles’ surprise, Mrs. Pepper blushed. “I really prefer not to wait.”
“I’ll come too,” Mrs. Entwhistle added, eager to see the ghost.
The husbands looked uncertain, but stood outside as their wives entered. When Percy asked if they wanted to use the unhaunted boys’ bathroom, they shook their heads and waited off to the side, whispering. Garrick and Lucinda did the same further back.
To Percy’s alarm, that left only Mr. Finch-Fletchley and him. The older man strolled up to him and eyed him like a lion assessing a gazelle. “Just out of curiosity, why did you volunteer to escort us?”
“I didn’t. Dumbledore asked me to.” Realizing how bad that sounded, he rushed to clarify: “N-Not that I didn’t want to! I did. I just didn’t offer.”
Mr. Finch-Fletchley tilted his head. “Why do you think he picked you?”
Percy’s shoulders slumped. “Honestly? I haven’t the faintest idea.”
For the first time, Mr. Finch-Fletchley cracked a smile. “That’s probably why. Men with humility are far more disarming.” He chuckled, as if hearing a private joke. “We’re often trained to view it as a virtue, and to some extent it is. But one mustn’t be so fixated on it that they start to forget—or even acknowledge—their own worth.”
“I know that,” replied Percy, bristling slightly. “Everyone has worth, whether they’re Muggle or Pureblood, rich or…poor. No one’s soul has more inherent value than another’s.”
“Interesting. That sounds vaguely Biblical.”
“I suppose…” Percy mumbled. The ideals of his parents were ingrained in him at a young age, and though he grew up with a generally Christian background, he never made the connection between the two—assuming one even existed.
Mr. Finch-Fletchley rubbed his chin, lost in thought. “I never had much use for religion. It always felt like a relic from a bygone era—no offense intended, of course—and Christianity’s idea of a higher power walking among us seemed patently absurd. Granted, that was before I learned of all…this.” He gestured vaguely at the castle interior. “Yet even then, I had a special fondness for the tale of David and Goliath. Are you familiar with it?”
Percy nodded. “Yes, though I’m unsure if our versions are the same.”
“In the human world, the story begins with the Israelites at the mercy of the Philistines and their most powerful warrior, Goliath. The only Israelite who wasn’t content to lower his head and accept his lot in life was a young shepherd named David. Defying expectations, the boy takes a stone and a slingshot and hits Goliath in the forehead, giving him enough time to behead the brute and prove the superiority of the Israelites. The reason I believe it resonates so well is because of the message.”
“Good things will happen if one has faith?” guessed Percy. Seeing Mr. Finch-Fletchley’s distasteful expression, he quickly added, “Or that intelligence and planning outweighs power?”
“Yes. And also that it’s important to understand the worth of those perceived to be weaker, for that very perception fuels the desire to topple titans.” Something flashed in his eyes, though it disappeared before Percy could pinpoint it. “So, what I mean to say is this: Know your worth, Percy. You’d do well to remember it.”
He tried to keep indignation and embarrassment out of his voice when he muttered, “I already do…” Like I told you…
“Always good to hear frequent reminders, especially if someone wealthier than you gives you grief for receiving this special honor.”
Percy blinked, startled and experiencing another wave of self-consciousness at his attire. “Wh-What do you mean?”
Mr. Finch-Fletchley smiled, not unkindly. “I believe you know what I mean. We needn’t discuss it anymore if it bothers you.”
His hands grew clammy and he coughed. “The ladies have been gone an awfully long time,” he croaked out. Desperate to change the topic, he turned to Mr. Pepper and Mr. Entwhistle. “Should someone go in after them?”
Mr. Entwhistle chuckled dryly. “My wife takes forever. That’s the only normal part of this damn trip.”
Mr. Pepper looked more uncertain. Picking up on this, Lucinda strode towards the door and opened it a sliver. “Is everything alright?”
Silence.
Expression clouding in an instant, Lucinda opened it wider and shrieked, “Garrick, get in here!”
The temperature plummeted in an instant as Percy and the rest of the men rushed inside. Immediately, Percy stumbled backwards, bringing a trembling hand to his mouth. Mr. Pepper and Mr. Entwhistle erupted in screams of rage and fear as they rushed to the sides of their wives, who both laid on the ground next to the sink, faces contorted in terror.
There was something eerie, uncanny, and fundamentally off about the expressions on the women’s faces. And when he realized what it was, nausea rose in his throat.
Unlike their children, Mrs. Pepper and Mrs. Entwhistle were dead.
Garrick swore loudly, and Lucinda said something Percy didn’t catch. He was too busy staring at Moaning Myrtle, who flouted out of her stall and drifted above living.
“Aww, that’s too bad,” she pouted, watching as the husbands sobbed and cradled their wives’ bodies. “If they were witches, I could’ve had some company. Oh, well.”