My heart skipped a beat as the photo came to life. There we were, Jacob and I, jumping up and down and grinning at Mom. She must have thought it was because we were excited. Mischievous, giggling, and making silly faces at each other. Little did she...
Ice contains no future, just the past, sealed away.
― Haruki Murakami, "Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman"
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We just got lucky.
At least, that was what Rowan said. We spent the evening in a tense argument with McGonagall and Angelica Cole, reporting on our unsuccessful searches. I got to explain our venture through the Artefact Room, a journey to the Gryffindor common room, and our close examination of nearly every piece of armor within Hogwarts. Ben might have been anywhere!
Angelica initially frowned, but she couldn't help but laugh heartily at Penny's 'pumpkin theory'. Even McGonagall seemed to entertain the notion at some point. I sprinkled details, Rowan nodded eagerly, but we, still, kept quiet about the black quill. It felt like it was searing my skin, nestled securely in my inner pocket all the way to the Ravenclaw tower.
We deciphered it early in the morning: the quill turned out to be a note that persistently invited us to the fifth floor. I couldn't fathom why someone who went by the initials 'R', the note's mysterious author, chose such an isolated spot. Students rarely ventured into this part of the castle, unless they were avoiding Filch late at night.
Otherwise, it was a desolate corridor, populated only by suits of armor, faded tapestries, and a couple of snoring portraits. Passing by, I couldn't resist the temptation to break the silence with a loud clap of my hands. Clap! Clap! Startled, some portraits cursed, while others threatened with their fists. But their expressions — those painted faces contorted in fear — were just too hilarious to resist.
For some reason, Penny didn't like the fun. She shook her head disapprovingly and shot us disapproving glances. Once, she even elbowed me and asked in a stern tone:
"Mia, aren't you the least bit ashamed?"
Ashamed? Well, perhaps only ashamed to admit that I wasn't. However, credit where it's due, I did try to leave the portraits in peace. Although, admittedly, at the next opportunity, I couldn't resist the urge to clap my hands again. Clap! Another elderly portrait jumped so high that he nearly tumbled out of his frame. Rowan and I burst into fits of laughter.
"Sorry, Penny," I apologized half-heartedly. "Their faces look scared to death...if that's possible for those who are already dead."
Rowan couldn't help but snort, choking on her laughter, while Penny shook her head once more. She seemed to want to say something: she raised her finger, opened her mouth, and then...sneezed. Followed by another sneeze and another. The cold had stealthily crept under our clothes. Haywood hastily buttoned up her coat, pulling her collar up to her eyes. They sparkled like two bright blue beads.
"Are you absolutely certain the clue led us here? Maybe it meant the Kitchens or the Great Hall? Somewhere warm."
I pulled out the note and scanned the lines, even though we had already committed them to memory. We'd even analyzed the handwriting — the crooked letters pointing in various directions, the yellowed paper. The brief and peculiar signature, 'R'. Rowan and I had racked our brains speculating: was it Argus Filch? Felix Rosier? Rubeus Hagrid? Then we imagined Hagrid turning the note into a black quill or Filch trying to sneak into the Gryffindor common room. The whole idea seemed absurd!
