Harry Potter and the Bucket List

Year 5 - 8

"It could be a frame-up!" Ron exclaimed excitedly. "No—listen!" he went on, dropping his voice dramatically at the threatening look on Hermione's face. "The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so—I dunno—they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!"

Hermione looked rather impressed and said, "Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true."

Harry and Neville were uneasy, both looking to Rosie.

"I mean I would do it," I said with a shrug. "I don't think Fudge is that smart though."

"Then what do you think it is?" asked Ron.

"Department of Mysteries. It's not a public department. Breaking and entering that area is a definite sentence to Azkaban. That he didn't speak to his defense is worrying, though."

"Worrying how so?" pressed Hermione.

"Think carefully," I advised. "What do you know already?"

"The weapon," whispered Neville. "If it's in the Department of Mysteries... what if he'd been guarding it?"

Their eyes widened, and I smiled.

"See that, Tom? Brilliant babehs—Oh."

Right.

Tom wasn't in my head.

There was a sting of disappointment in my chest. My stomach dropped unpleasantly and found myself forcing my hands on both Hermione and Ron's back as I encouragingly rubbed them. "There you go. Well thought out, dears."

"We didn't really—" Ron uneasily said but I kissed his cheek then Hermione's.

"Had Fudge been an actual opponent instead of a tic in the side your idea would have been Slytherin worthy," I assured the pink-cheeked insecure boy. "Now I hope you all have a wonderful Monday morning."

"Should be nice," said Hermione. "Do you want to eat with us at lunch?"

"Nope. Theodore's got a brilliant idea to make our pumpkin juice explode," I excitedly whispered.

"You're having way too much fun with this," sighed Harry.

I giggled, unable to deny that.

At least it'll keep me distracted from missing...

I didn't want to finish that thought.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

All throughout Monday my mind wandered. So much to the point that I accidentally reflexively dodged some of the random jinxes my babeh snakes sent my way. I had to compensate by doing a particularly impressive tripping maneuver Draco and I practiced on Sunday that resulted in a sprained ankle.

Madam Pomfrey was not amused to be fixing me up so often and she was extremely cross with Umbridge for not putting a stop to the shenanigans in her class.

Not that I paid much attention.

It was time to seriously consider the Horcrux issue.

First up: the diadem.

Made in Tom Riddle's seventh year, likely near the end of the year to draw the least amount of suspicion. That would make a two-year gap between the Tom Riddle I had come to know and the soul in the diadem.

Two years.

Maybe not a lot. Maybe a whole lot.

I knew the diadem was created from Tom Riddle murdering his biological family. Which, uh... Certainly perturbing. I didn't remember the canonical diadem having much of a personality. It was cursed, as was the ring.