Knockturn Alley was not at all like Diagon. It was all sudden twists and tight turns, buildings jutting out at odd angles and unpleasantly close together, with sudden dead ends that weren't really dead, simply required the right passcode or sacrifice to get through, and above all, it was dark. A gloomy place, the buildings tilted to block out the sun, siding painted dark colors or else made of glum stone, signs faded, the cobblestones cracked and broken up.
It probably wasn't a good idea for an almost twelve year old girl to be wandering around it alone. Already, I could hear Snape's voice hissing at me for carelessness.
However, I needed information. More than what I could find in a common bookstore, what with the bans on "propaganda" that I had very recently found myself investigating. Unfortunately, there were a great many DADA – and history – books that counted there, at utter odds with my newfound interest.
So that's how I found myself on the illicit side of the Diagon District. Not that most people truly realized how dark it was, with the truly illegal hidden behind a web of secret doors and hidden areas – something even I only knew due to the quiet words of Azarius Shafiq.
Not very far along the alley, there was a dead end, wedged between Borgin & Burke's and a dingy potions shop. The brick decayed, cracked badly, bricks missing in places.
I placed a hand against the scarred wall, murmuring, " Secreta nocturni ." Brick turned soft, indistinct, as intangible as air, and I slipped right through.
The other side was nothing like the dingy alley behind me. It was... not bright , no, everything still had that darkness to it, but not gritty and dirty. Cobblestones were pristine, shop fronts neat and sparkling, a scattered series of customers moving in and out.
I wandered along it, searching for the shop Azarius had told me about when I'd come asking about defensive magic – for, as great as the Shafiq family was, they'd never bothered much with it. Ancient Runes, arithmancy, astronomy, enchantments, yes, but curses and countercurses? They'd stuck to the basics, the legal things.
And if they hadn't, then those were family secrets.
So I pushed open the door of Obscurus Books, bell jingling merrily.
The bookshop was a musty place. Rows and rows of closely packed shelves stretched into the back of the shop, dimly lit by the occasional pendant light fixture, more than one of which flickered erratically. It was the kind of place one would find exactly what one was searching for, be it a book that came out last month or one that dated to the 20s, possibly even rarer tomes in the glass cases on the second floor, and more often than not said find would be buried in a decade's worth of dust.
The bell's jingling had hardly stopped when bright, bright eyes appeared from the gloom, and a man stepped out.
He was very skinny, bones jutting out awkwardly underneath his worn tweed suit, and his eyes this odd, odd color, an amber that dulled in the light. The most interesting thing about him, however, were the scars across his face, as if some great animal had swiped its claws over his cheek.
"Hello," I said as he looked me over with those odd eyes, "are you Mr. Lupin?"
He stiffened, then, his gaze locking with mine, and there was this odd fuzziness to his head, like with Hedwig's, an indistinct quality to his thoughts. How... interesting.
"Azarius Shafiq recommended your establishment," I told him.
He nodded. "I see. I am, indeed, Remus Lupin."
"I'm looking for texts on defensive magic?" I inquired, glancing around at the rows of shelves, and there didn't seem to be much in the way of organization, worn tomes and brand new leather journals and yellowing scrolls all shoved in seemingly without a care.
"The very back of the shop," he said, "on the left."
I nodded politely. "Thank you."
Last year, I had bothered little with defensive magic. After all, who would I need to defend against? Besides which, I had been occupied trying to figure out exactly what I was – something far harder than I would've thought, apparently mind magic, known more commonly by it's two subsets Occlumency and Legilimency , were borderline illegal and very secretive arts, and if I hadn't let slip to Snape, it could've taken years to find the answers.
But, now, I understood exactly how important strengthening myself in all areas was. "Kill her!" Voldemort ordered ... and if not for a sudden magical deus ex machina, I'd be a corpse at this moment.
So. Defensive magic. And I wouldn't settle for the wishy-washy stuff the Ministry sold, no, I was going to learn everything .
By the time I left, I had a very tall, very heavy stack of books that I just managed to set on the counter in the front without dropping.
Mr. Lupin eyed the stack dubiously, his eyes lingering on The Principles of Battle Magick . "Are you certain your parents would want you reading that?"
"Oh, I'm sure they'll be fine with it," I lied breezily. Honestly, I had no idea what they'd think of my reading habits– prepared, hopefully.
His amber eyes sharpened. "If you say so." Shaking his head, he began to ring it in, murmuring to himself under his breath. "... just like..." was all I caught. "28 sickles, 13 Knuts."
I had just passed it over when the bell jingled again.
"Lettie?"
I glanced up at the familiar voice. Standing in the doorway was the fifth – well, sixth, now – year prefect, Jeremy Stretton. Surprise skirted across his thoughts, incredulity at what I could possibly be doing here, and he just blinked at me with bright blue eyes. "Oh, hello, Stretton."
"What're you doing here?"
"Defense books." I tapped the leather cover of Most Vicious Hexes .
He blinked, glanced at the stack, and whistled. "That's a hell of a lot of DADA books. Are you thinking of joining the dueling team?"
Well. That was a thought. "Maybe. It's more due to the apparent horrific reputation of our DADA professors. Is it true that one unleashed an erkling on a class?"
Stretton winced. "Yeah. They were sixth years, to be fair."
"Uh-huh."
"You should, though," Stretton said, trying to deflect the conversation, "Try out for the dueling team. I have a friend on it, she could recommend you."
"Isn't it third years up?"
He shrugged. "True. But that doesn't mean you can't get in good beforehand."
"Your change," Mr. Lupin cut in, and I turned to him with a smile, taking back my extra fourteen sickles, and he handed over the bag of books. "Have a good day."
"Thank you," I murmured, picking up the bag - and it was very light, had he cast a featherlight charm? "It was nice seeing you, Stretton."
He nodded. "You, too, Potter."
"I'll think about the dueling thing," I said, and slipped out the door. And perhaps it was my imagination, perhaps it was silly, but I swore I felt Mr. Lupin's eyes following me all the way along the alley.
******
Dueling, defensive magic, counter-curses, offensive charms. We think of them as separate, but akin to one another, however, this is a fallacy. In truth, all of these various ideas are but one thing: Battle magic.
It originated thousands of years ago, in ancient China, in the ruins of Atlantis, in the time before the Conquest, and its forms rang from the east's bōjutsu, to the enchantments of Elder Futhark, to what is now commonly known as "Defense Against the Dark Arts". However, the purpose remains the same no matter the place, time, or method: to kill.
Many will try to hide this, to glamour it up as "protection", but know this: the essence of battle magic is knowing the quickest and most efficient method to kill your enemy. If you wish to hide behind fancifulness, this book is not for you.
Excerpt from
The Principles of Battle Magic
******
Summer slipped by quickly after that, immersed as I was in my studies. Hours each day were spent pouring over one of my many defensive magic - or battle magic , as a pair of books pompously insisted - practicing wand movements and reciting the incantation over and over, until it was right. My trips to the Shafiqs became a little more frequent, if only so that I was able to practice a few spells - due to their barely legal ward scheme, it was difficult for the Trace to pick up anything - and perhaps, due to the beginnings of loneliness.
Dizzy Lane was hardly the most comforting place, after all, between Iris's glowers and haughty disapproval of me and self-important announcements of visits with friends, to the knife's edge of anxiety and terror Petunia always danced along, the trembling woman's mind always a frenzied tornado. Though, she was hardly ever home, torn as she was between three jobs.
During my trips to the Alley, I ran into more and more of my classmates: Blaise Zabini in the Slug and Jiggers, pouring over a battered potion book; Cho Chang, Marietta Edgecombe and their group, giggling and genial as ever, while shopping for new clothes in Twilfit & Tattings; bumped into the Weasley twins coming out of a junk shop, who had been released onto the alley under Percy's supposed supervision; pompous Eddie Carmichael, who prattled on endlessly about everything and nothing all at the same time.
It was exhausting.
Smiling and nodding, laughing at all the right places, keeping a blank face when they inevitably mentioned - or thought about, but were too nice or polite to say aloud - Quirrell and the incident. The fact that I was now a killer. It was just... I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to pretend anymore.
The last week of August found me visiting the Weasley family home – named, of all things, the Burrow, which... I definitely didn't make a weasel comment. It was surprisingly peaceful.
There was no noise, no distractions... or, that is to say, there were less distractions there. Because the Burrow was utter and complete chaos, as far from the calm grandness of Shafiq House as it was possible to be.
A near constant barrage of noise came from the twins room, the sounds of explosions soft and loud, of things clanging together and once a very shrill whistle that hurt – "We don't know why they do that," Ginny confessed, "Dad thinks they just like the noise. Drives Mum spare." – and sure enough the whistle incident led Mrs. Weasley to go pounding on their door and yelling at them to cut that out. Out in the shed out back, Mr. Weasley ran his own experiments, which once led to great puffs of black smoke drifting from the building and another time actually caught fire .
Mrs. Weasley's shrill shouting could come at any part of the day, and if not they, then she was most often bustling about in the kitchen, clanging pots and listening loudly to Celestina Warbeck as if in defiance of the twins' noise.
And then there was the ghoul in the attic, who was perfectly prepared to bang on the pipes whenever he felt it was growing too silent.
The only quite member of the household was Percy Weasley, always locked in his room and either scribbling away notes in his books as he studied compulsively or else scribbling away to his secret girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater.
Therefore, all in all, it could not a peaceful place to most... except for a Legilimens who had immediately – after a lifetime in a small town of a few thousand, after a year in Hogwarts surrounded by hundreds, after frequent trips to bustling London – noticed that there were only seven other people around for miles. And that, if I drifted far enough into the orchard, then even those seven minds became a distant buzz at the back of my mind.
It was brilliant.
Elaine's room, though, was the oddest part of the entire house. It was located on the very top floor, with a ladder leading up to the attic that Elaine, with a flick of her wand, unrolled and led me up to show off some of her experiments. The room itself was small, one wall slanted with the roofline, and very cramped – her trunk wedged at the bottom of her rickety bed, just fitting between it and her bookshelf, a desk covered with scattered bits of parchment and oddities like a broken clock and a ragged, stuffed doll with its eyes replaced by Xs and mouth sewn shut, a toy chest beside that, and a very small window that sunlight spilled through perfectly in the mornings.
And then, of course, my own surprisingly comfortable – probably enchanted – pallet taking up the little bit of floorspace between desk chair and bed.
"It makes sense that it wouldn't work with the Hogwarts owl," Elaine said at the end of August, when I'd Flooed over to stay with her for the last week of, "or that they wouldn't want to mess with it. There's a bunch of charms on them to prevent that sort of thing."
I titled my head back, peering up at Elaine above me – the other girl perched on her bed, one leg dangling. "So what happens if someone does tamper with a school owl?"
"Well, I guess a very irritated Professor McGonagall would show up at their door, wouldn't she?"
Oh, that would not be pleasant at all . The entire school may murmur about Snape, but everyone with sense knew McGonagall was the real one not to anger.
"I'd pay good money to see that."
Elaine shuddered. "Not me. The twins have told enough horror stories about her to last a lifetime."
I sat up, curiosity peaked. "Why? What'd she do to them?"
"Well–"
A knock on the door interrupted her, and then Ginny Weasley peeked inside. The girl looked incredibly like Elaine, except she curled in on herself, her head lowered.
"What, Ginny?"
The girl jerked. "M-mum says dinner's done."
"Thank you," I told her.
Her gaze jerked to mine, then went wide. She opened her mouth, then closed it and scrambled away, feet pounding on the steps.
"What was that ?"
Elaine burst into laughter.
"What?"
Shaking her head, Elaine stood up. "Just come on."
We headed out of her room and down the rickety, odd formed mish mash of stairs and landings and had almost made it to the bottom when there was a sharp tug on my ankle, and I went stumbling forwards.
"Lettie!" Elaine cried
I tumbled down the last few stairs, hitting the ground, and... shouldn't it have hurt more? Blinking, I looked around. Everything seemed to be in the right place–
"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley bustled forwards, wand in hand, and looked me over. "Are you alright? Does anything hurt? Anything feel broken?!Are you alright to stand?"
"No," I stammered under her onslaught, standing, "I-I'm fine."
She looked over me again, ascertaining my truthfulness, then nodded sharply. "Well. You're lucky, then." She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and drew me into the kitchen. "You really should be more careful."
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," I murmured, but I knew that, really, it hadn't been me. Something had grabbed me, had made me fall...
Someone that I hadn't heard, who's mind I hadn't felt.
How was the last even possible?
"Kill her!" Voldemort shouted... hands around my throat... mad, mad eyes... screaming... no, no, I wouldn't die... "KILL HER!"
Hands held me down, and I screamed, thrashing, trying to get away. "Kill her!" I grabbed onto... something and pushed , with all my might.
The person let go of me, and then there was a crash.
Gasping, I jerked upright, and... the room was dim, only lit by moonlight and the light spilling in from the hallway, but familiar. There's the lump of Elaine's bed, the rickety bookshelf, the Holyhead Harpies posters tacked up to the walls that were barely distinguishable in the dark, and there, sprawled on the floor and blinking, spectacles crooked on his nose, was Mr. Weasley.
"Oh!" I scrambled forwards. "I'm so sorry! I didn't realize..."
He smiled sheepishly at me. "It's alright, Lettie. Though you did the give me quite the shock."
"But –"
He looked at me, and it wasn't reproving or disgusted or angry, there was a gentleness to it, a look that said getting thrown into a wall happened every day and he was utterly comfortable with it.
"Sorry," I reiterated.
A low whistle came from the door, and there were the twins, Elaine, Ginny, even Perfect, Pompous Percy. "Wow, Lettie," one of the twins said, "you really killed it with the screams."
"Quite a shock," the other twin added, "waking up like that. We thought you were being murdered."
I was, nearly. "Sorry." What else was there to say?
"Come along now," Mrs. Weasley said, shooing her children from the door, "back to bed."
"Mum ," Elaine complained when she, too, was shepherded away, "it's my room!"
Mrs. Weasley glanced at me, and I made myself smile weakly. She sighed. "Fine, then. The rest of you, come along."
In a moment, the Weasleys – minus Elaine and her father – were gone.
Mr. Weasley looked down at me, frowning a little. "Lettie... are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Mr. Weasley," I said instantly. The look he gave me was doubtful. I lowered my gaze, and murmured, "Really. I'll be fine."
He nodded. "If you ever need to talk..."
I stared down at my hands, and he moved to the door–
"Thank you," I murmured, so soft that even I could barely hear the words. But, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance back at me and nod.
And then he, too, was gone.
"Okay," Elaine said, plopping back down on the bed, "what was that about?"
I shook my head. "It's... just a bad dream."
Elaine opened her mouth, then closed it again, thinking, It has to be about Quirrell, but... what do I say? How can I make that better?
But she didn't know.
I looked away, staring at the wall. "I don't want to go back."
Elaine didn't say anything, still lost, and maybe that was what I needed.
"I'm afraid of what'll happen if I do."
For a long moment, silence hung in the dark bedroom. Then, Elaine said, "I'm scared, too. We all almost died before. Me, Hermione, even you. The only reason we're alive is.. luck."
A lump formed in my throat. My fault. They'd almost died because of me .
"But we can't let it consume us," she said more firmly. "If we let our fear decide our actions, then we're letting him win, aren't we?"
I turned to her finally, and her gaze was fixed, firm, her mind buzzing with certainty and passion and... "I suppose you're right."
She glanced away, embarrassment washing over her, memories of being ignored, of being pushed aside, flashing across her mind. "Yeah."
And somehow, I managed to fall asleep with a smile on my face.
*****
On August 31, the Burrow was in a tizzy. Mrs. Weasley had insisted theat everyone pack their trunks that morning and bring them down, and now, all her children were rushing around, Percy trying to round up half the books in the house, the Weasley twins trying to surreptitiously sneak into their hiding spots and slip things like sticks of Mr. Filibuster's Fireworks and stink pellets into their trunks when their mother wasn't looking, Ginny searching desperately for her lost diary, and Elaine darting through her room trying to make sure she didn't forget anything, desperately reciting her list and then digging through the mess of clothes, old junk, books, and odd silvery contraptions as eccentric as Albus Dumbledore's, and not nearly so well put together.
Thankfully, I didn't have half so much to do, so I perched on Elaine's bed, tucking away the few books and refolding the bits of clothing that had escaped, and watched as she rushed around like a madwoman.
I slid the last book inside and fastened up my trunk, then turned to her as she ran her fingers through her hair, murmuring about her charms book. "I think it's under the bed."
She blinked at me a few times, then ducked down and peeked and-
"AHA!"
She popped back up, holding the battered tome, beaming, and dropped it into her trunk. "That's it! I'm done!"
"Are you sure?" I asked, eyeing the mess of wadded robes, shoved in books, and cauldron filled with socks, a broken tea cup, an old telescope, and other odd junk.
She hesitated, looking it all over again. "Yeah, I'm sure." She wrestled it shut and clicked the locks.
"Lunch is ready!" Molly Weasley's voice just reached them at the very top floor of the Burrow, faint and distant.
The two of us headed down to the chaos of the Weasley home at lunch, and an hour later, at Mrs. Weasley's insistence, marched back upstairs for our trunks.
Only, my trunk gone.
"Where..."
But Elaine was already spinning on her heel. She darted down the stairs, to the third floor landing, and I trailed after her.
"Fred!" Elaine pounded on the door with several signs proclaiming: DO NOT DISTURB! No prefects! Genesis red haired twins only! and other things to similar effect. "George!"
She kept pounding on the door, and finally, after several minutes, Fred flung open the door, took one look at her, and leaned against the doorframe with a lazy smile.
"Oh, sweet sister, what brings you to my humble abode?"
She crossed her arms, glowering up at him. "Lettie's trunk is missing."
He raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"And, " she snapped, "where'd you put it?"
"We didn't take it."
Elaine's look was withering. "So I won't find it hidden in your room or somewhere under a cloaking spell?"
"No." This wasn't Fred, it was George, appearing behind his brother. "We didn't do it. Maybe it was Ginny?" He gave a breezy smile. "You know how obsessed she is."
Elaine's cheeks turned bright red. "Fine."
Then, she marched down another flight of stairs, leaving me to murmur an apology and then hurry after her. By the time I reached her, she was already pounding on Ginny's door.
The door flung open.
"What ?" Ginny hissed.
"Did you take Lettie's trunk?"
Ginny stared at her. "Why would I do that?"
"Because you're–"
The opposite door opened, and a very irritated Percy peeked out. "What is with all the racket?"
Elaine rounded on him–
"My trunk vanished," I pitched in, giving her a look.
She scowled. " Someone ," a pointed look, here, at Ginny, "stole it."
"I didn't take it!" she insisted.
"Well," Percy directed a scowl at all of us, "keep it down. Some of us are trying to study." He slammed the door shut, a lock clicking a moment later.
"Study what ?" Elaine asked. "We haven't even started school yet!"
By then, we had caught Mrs. Weasley's attention, the woman appearing at the top of the stairs, and asked, "What's wrong?"
Elaine rounded on her, sighing, deeply frustrated by this point. "Lettie's trunk is gone!"
How many times would we have to repeat that?
"Nonsense," Mrs. Weasley said, starting for the stairs, "I'm sure you're just overlooking it."
"Oh, yes," Elaine murmured as we trailed after her, "we just missed a giant trunk in the middle of my bedroom!"
"Elaine," Mrs. Weasley chided.
We went back to the bedroom, and sure enough, it still wasn't there. This didn't put off Elaine's mother, who proceeded to check the entirety of the small, cramped room, as if my trunk could possibly be hiding on the bookshelf. Then, came the questioning, and a check downstairs – "Just in case, dear," Mrs. Weasley said – and a subsequent search throughout the entire house.
Two hours later, after checking every single odd nook and cranny – under the stairs, a storage room half hidden behind a bookshelf, Mr. Weasley even went out to check his experiment shed, after hastily assuring his wife he needed no help, half desperate because he did not want her to see what he did there – and enlisting everyone but Perfect Percy, who was busy , we still hadn't found it.
It was utterly and completely ridiculous . And infuriating.
"I don't know where it could be!" I exclaimed, dropping onto the couch.
"Are you sure you didn't put it somewhere?" Mrs. Weasley asked.
I nodded helplessly.
"Well, I suppose you'll have to make another trip to Diagon," Elaine said.
"Some of the books in there were really rare." And illegal. If the wrong person found those books alongside the robes and schoolbooks with my name on them...
"We'll find it," Elaine assured me, "I'm sure Mum'll turn around in a couple days and it'll be right there." She turned to the woman. "Right, Mum?"
Mrs. Weasley gave a tight smile.
I stood up. "Well. I should get to Diagon before the shops close."
Mrs. Weasley insisted that I use the Floo, and so I whirled through the fire, stepping out into the Leaky Cauldron. I set out onto the darkening Diagon Alley, to get everything I needed – literally everything, trunk and cauldron, clothes and a telescope, textbooks and potions supplies, all my magical supplies from the last year, everything I'd bought for the magical world.
At least I still had my wand.
*****
It was a nightmare, getting away the next morning. We were up at dawn, and yet somehow, like always at the Burrow, it was utter chaos. Mrs Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills, people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands, and Mr Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.
A Ford Angelia, to be exact, and one that I would be certain eight people, six large trunks, and two owls would not fit in if not for the half guilty, half excited thoughts of Mr. Weasley every time he looked at it. When we had all settled into the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced back to see me, Elaine, the twins, and Percy all sitting comfortably, and proclaimed, "Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don't they? I mean, you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"
Exchanging a look with Elaine, I barely kept from laughing.
Then, we were off... for a total of five minutes before swooping back in, George rushing back inside for his broomstick. Five minutes after that, we skidded to a halt in the yard so that Percy could retrieve his cauldron. They had almost reached the motorway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her diary. By the time she had clambered back into the car, we were running very late, and tempers were running high.
Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife. "Molly, dear –"
"No , Arthur."
"No one would see. This little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed – that'd get us up in the air – then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser..."
"I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight."
Finally, at a quarter to eleven, we reached King's Cross, everyone in a rush, wrestling out trunks and cages, Mr. Weasley dashing across the road to get trolleys for our trunks, and we all hurried into the station towards the tricky barrier between platforms nine and ten. Percy strode briskly through, then Mr. Weasley dashed through with the twins on his tail, and Mrs. Weasley grabbed Ginny's wrist and disappeared through the barrier.
Then, it was me and Elaine's turn.
We hurried towards the barrier, gathering speed - perfect confidence, that was the trick to getting through the barrier, for getting around the fact that one was walking straight for a solid wall despite the voice screaming in the back of one's head - and then, a few feet away, broke into a run and-
Crash!
Both trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backwards. I stumbled back, hitting the ground and groaned, Elaine's trunk fell off with a loud thump and Hedwig's cage crashed to the floor and rolled away, the owl shrieking indignantly.
"Ow," I complained, rubbing my head.
Elaine, meanwhile, had staggered to her feet, wincing as she put weight on her ankle - pain - and reached for her trunk.
People all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, "What in blazes d'you think you're doing?"
"Sorry," I called back, giving the man a sheepish smile, "Lost control of the trolley!"
I scrambled to my feet, rubbing my ribs where they'd crashed into the handle, and darted over to pick up Hedwig. One woman muttered about animal cruelty, thinking that children should never be entrusted with animals, and I shot her a vicious look.
"Sorry, girl," I murmured to my owl, looping back over to Elaine.
The other girl was surreptitiously feeling at the wall, the brick as solid as, well, brick. "Something's wrong."
"Well, obviously. "
She shot me a look. You don't have to be rude. "It shouldn't have done this. The spell's themselves... well, these kind of anti-Muggle enchantments shouldn't have activated. They're supposed to detect our aura and let us pass. For it to be sealed like this..."
"So, you're saying someone had to have deliberately tampered with it?" Bloody brilliant.
She nodded. "It had to be. And..." She glanced at the wall again. "There's no guarantee that the people on the other side can get back through, either."
I looked around the station. Nobody was staring anymore, save for the rather annoyed and slightly suspicious guard worried for mischief, everyone briskly heading off to their destinations, a little girl here begging her mother for ice cream, a couple there snogging before they had to get on their train. It all seemed normal, and I certainly didn't feel anything odd in their minds, but...
"We shouldn't linger here."
Elaine rounded on me. "Then, where should we go?"
I slipped my hand through hers, smiled. It couldn't be a pretty smile, a nice smile, not as strained and tight and worried as I was, waiting for something to lunge out at us, but it was real . She knew that, saw it, and it made her feel better. "Come on."
Once back outside, I had her write out a letter to Snape - "Snape, really? He's not even your head of house," she'd grumbled - and sent it off with Hedwig.
"Okay, now what?"
I turned to her with a wide smile, already picturing her reaction to the new situation. "Now, we take the Night Bus."
*****
"I hate you," Elaine groaned a couple hours later, burying her face in her hands. The pair of us sat at Hogsmeade Station, waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive.
"It wasn't that bad," I protested.
"I hate you," Elaine reiterated.
I sighed.
We sat in silence for a few more moments.
"Want to play cards?"
For a long moment, she didn't answer. Then–
"Fine."
So we played cards.
And then we bickered about Quidditch – my relative indifference and her excitement over it.
Then, we both read for a time before abandoning it for a game of Exploding Snap.
Then, finally, after the fifth time I signed my fingers, the Hogwarts Express finally came rolling in.
"Thank Merlin ," Elaine moaned, standing.
I tucked the cards away, then joined her, the pair of us watching as the Express came to a stop.
"We'll have to drag our trunks onboard," I reminded her.
She groaned again.
We brought our trunks on board, then headed off to a carriage. I strained on my toes, peeking around for Hermione, Ismay, or any familiar face, really. However, the only one I saw was Louisa Shafiq, Ismay's cousin, hovering with her group of friends.
Elaine huffed, then grabbed my hand and dragged me towards a carriage. Why does she always have to have them around?
Ignoring her jealous, I climbed inside and settled in. A few fifth years poured into the carriage before it took off, and soon enough we were at the castle, the wards dancing featherlight across my skin as we passed through, and then we headed into the Great Hall.
Elaine hesitated, glancing at the Gryffindor table.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I told her.
She nodded. "Tomorrow."
Then, we parted ways, her to the Gryffindors, and me to the Ravenclaws. As I settled in, I spotted Hermione at the Hufflepuff table, and waved. She waved back, smiling, but it was strained. Was she worried? From the distance, with the way her mind was closed off and all the loud minds around us, I couldn't hear her clearly.
Then, Morag Macdougal dropped into the seat beside me. "Hey, Lettie. I didn't see you on the train."
"There were a few issues," I admitted.
She blinked, but before she could say anything, a Weasley twin appeared, drapping himself over my shoulder. "Lettie! How swell to see you!"
"Yes, absolutely spiffing," George continued, dropping into the chair beside me. "We noticed that you vanished from the platform."
"Mum was quite concerned," Fred pitched in, "seemed to think something awful had happened to you."
Oh. Oops. I'd completely forgotten about them, hadn't I? And Elaine hadn't reminded me either... I winced. "Sorry. The barrier sealed somehow, and we had to take the Floo to school."
The twins exchanged a look. "That doesn't happen."
I shrugged. "Well, it did this year-"
The door to the Great Hall flung open, and McGonagall strode inside with the first years trailing after, all tiny and tripping over their robes and gaping up around them, whispers of "the ceiling" and "it's so amazing" spreading amongst their ranks. Like last year, they were gathered in a line before everyone, and McGonagall placed a stool and hat before the small students, and the hat began to sink... a completely different song.
"Does the Hat always sing a different song?" Steven Cornfoot asked, to which he received a hushed "yes" from Kenneth Tower.
The song was fairly similiar to last year, all about the virtues of the houses, but... how odd. Though, perhaps that's all the hat really had to do with his time, sitting up on a shelf somewhere. He probably made all sorts of songs to amuse himself.
The Sorting wasn't nearly as interesting from this end, with name after name after name being called, and it dragged on. My stomach began to rumble, and nobody else seemed to feel much better. Anthony Goldstein began to nod off. Finally, though, McGonagall reached the last name: "Weasley, Ginevra!"
Ginny stepped forwards, trembling, and sat down on the stool.
Hurry up and say Gryffindor, the seventh year prefect, Benjamin Boyle, thought, and yet the hat remained silent, contemplating. One minute ticked past, then two, then three, and people started shifting in their seats, whispers spreading about how Weasleys were always Gryffindors, except the twins of course, but they were obvious exceptions, not at all like proper Weasleys, and would the hat just hurry up and announce Gryffindor?
Then, finally, as if reading everyone's thoughts, and it opened it's mouth.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Everyone stared, incredulously, as Ginny removed the hat and glanced about, trembling, terrified, and set the Hat down. Her gaze went towards the Gryffindor table for a moment, then she turned away and, head held high, marched over to the Slytherins. No sooner had she sat down then murmurs began to carry across the hall:
"A Weasley in Slytherin? Ridiculous!"
"Well, there's always one bad apple."
"How can she be worse than the twins?"
Is that the sort of thing that would've greeted me if I had gone to Slytherin? I glanced over to her, but none of the other Slytherins were making any effort at all to speak to her, and instead she stared idly down at her food, barely touching it. Poor girl.
Then, Fred Weasley began to laugh. His sister, a Slytherin. Oh, his mum would be thrilled! He wished he could see their faces when they opened the letter... and those poor Slytherins, Ginny would be ruling them all by within two years, he was certain.
George Weasley, however, was not laughing. He too stared at his little sister, however, for the first time, his and Fred's thoughts weren't lined up. No, rather than being amused, he was terrified, scared at what the Slytherins might do to her, worried about how being in Slytherin would affect her, concerned at how their parents and the rest of their family would react... bad enough, to be a Ravenclaw in a family of Gryffindors, and they had a cousin in Hufflepuff, but Slytherin? He could already hear Aunt Muriel's rants, imagine how the cousins would react... Evil, they'd say. Monster.
I glanced between the brothers, then over at little Ginny Weasley, and wondered, what did fate have in store for her?
By the time the feast ended, I had an awful headache. All their thoughts and memories and emotions clambered through my head, louder than a circus, like sitting right next to a band among dozens as they played, all radiating in my mind and bouncing around and... and it was a relief, to escape at all, skipping around the Grand Staircase and taking a passage I'd discovered last year, cutting through the winding, slowly assending corridor and back staircases, making my way to Ravenclaw Tower alone.
When I reached it, the corridor was mercifully empty, and I hurried over to the eagle shaped knocker. Unlike the other three common rooms, to enter Ravenclaw Tower, one did not need some sort of passcode, but simply to answer a question, a riddle, and tonight, the knocker asked: "Until I am measured I am not known. Yet how you miss me when I have flown."
"Time," I answered instantly.
The eagle-knocker smiled at me, then the secret door, hidden in stone, swung open, and I stepped into the massive, sweeping room.
Overheads the ceiling domed, but instead of stone, it peered up at the heavens – a similar enchantment to that in the Grand Hall and Astronomy Tower, though it always showed the night sky, stars shining brightly, and one that had been placed in all the dorm rooms. Globes of light dangled here and there, hovering like mini-suns. Windows gracefully arched between massive bookshelves, with deep blue drapes that nobody ever bothered to draw closed and hide the impressive view of the castle below. Nestled into a nook was the statue of brilliant white marble, a woman gazing right at the common room door.
A balcony curved around half the room, a spiral staircase curling up to it at either end. From there, were two more staircases that led to the girls and boys dorms, and I hurried up the girls stairs.
There was no organization to the dormitories. Or rather, if there was a means of organization, then I had yet to decipher it. My room, thankfully, was only on the second floor, three doors down, and I gratefully poured inside–
The room was colored the same brilliant midnight blue, deep burnished bronze, and pale cream as the rest of the tower. Two sets of mahogany furniture had been set on either side of the room: sleek desks and towering bookcases built into the wall, small nightstands with bronze lamps on it, broad four poster beds draped in blue with an initialed trunk at the foot of each. Bronze light fixtures dangled overhead from thick chains, like pendants. A plush blue and bronze and cream carpet covered the floor, my shoes sinking into it. Separating each girls' space was a large, floor to ceiling window.
It had become my haven throughout the last year as Morag rarely bothered to appear, gone as soon as she woke and gone until late into the night, and so I was fully prepared to sink into bed and sleep . Fully prepared, until I saw the creature sitting on said bed.
The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. A house-elf?
"Hello?" I offered.
The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its long thin nose touched the carpet. "Lettie Potter!" It wore a ratty old pillowcase, with rips for its arms and legs.
The oddest part about the creatures, though, was its mind. It wasn't... there was a shallowness to it, only surface thoughts and nothing more, like peering at a practiced Occlumens mind. However, unlike their minds, there was nothing underneath. No blocked off mind, no deep pool of thought and memory, just... nothing . Like a kiddie pool.
"So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, ma'am... Such an honour it is..."
"Thank you," I said, leaning against the wall, hands behind my back to hide the fact that I was clutching my wand. "But, why are you here, Dobby?"
The creature's eyes welled up. "You know Dobby's name! How honored I am!"
"You just said it," I pointed out.
Dobby just goggled at me.
"Um... so why did your master send you here?" If only there was a manual for how to deal with suddenly appearing house-elves...
"Oh!" He started. "Master did not send Dobby! Dobby came himself! Master would not–" His eyes went comically wide, and he lunged for the candle stand, grabbing it and bashing his head. "Bad Dobby! Bad!"
What the hell? For a moment, all I could do was stare at him, then I darted forwards. He struggled as I tried to get the candlestick. "Stop! Dobby, stop!" Finally, I managed to rip it away from his hands and stumbled back.
"Why don't you sit down and explain?"
It seemed perfectly reasonable, but for some reason, his eyes filled with tears. X S-sit down!" he wailed. "Never ... never ever..."
"I'm sorry!" I burst out. "I didn't mean–" He only sobbed louder, so obviously, I was saying the wrong thing. "Stop, please." More sobs. "Dobby, stop it!"
He shut up.
Finally.
Apparently, direct commands were best. "Why are you here?"
"You are in grave danger," the house elf said earnestly, nodding happily. "Dobby has come to warn you, yes, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later..." And that wasn't awful. "There are things stirring... awful things... Lettie Potter must leave Hogwarts!"
" What ?" Leave Hogwarts? Where else would I go? I mean... there were other schools, but... "My friends are here. Everyone I know." It was what I was used to, what I knew.
Dobby shook his head frantically. "There is a plot! A terrible, terrible plot to make most awful things happen at Hogwarts! Dobby has known for months, ma'am! And Lettie Potter must not put herself in danger! She is too important! She must leave!"
"I can't." Maybe I should, though... a terrible plot... "Who's behind it? What terrible things?"
Dobby made a funny choking sound, then banged his head madly against the wall.
"Stop!" I grabbed the house-elf's arm, jerking him away from the wall. "You can just say you can't tell me! You don't have to do..." I gestured at the wall. " That !"
Dobby nodded in agreement.
"This doesn't have anything to do with Voldemort, does it?"
Dobby shuddered at the name. "Not... not him , ma'am, not exactly-" He lunged for the wall again, and I barely kept him back - house-elves were surprisingly strong for their spindly, tiny bodies. "It is most awful, and Lettie Potter must leave !"
"I have friends here."
"Friends who don't even write to Lettie Potter?" The words were too sly, his eyes gleaning, and...
"It was you," I breathed, my grip on his arm loosening, " You stole my letters. You... you took my trunk!"
Dobby shuffled his feet, not meeting my gaze. "Dobby has them all, ma'am. Dobby will give them back if Lettie Potter agrees to leave."
"Give them now ."
He raised his head, eyes gleaming as he looked at me. "Does Lettie Potter agree to leave?"
" No ," I hissed.
"Then Lettie Potter leaves Dobby no choice," Dobby said, "Dobby will have to make Lettie Potter leave!" And then, with a crack , Dobby vanished.
Another one of Elaine's cursed crossed my mind: Bloody hell.